ACT 31: Dreams Dark and Deadly
by Galaxy1001D
Summary: Roger Smith returns to Electric City to investigate a scientific institute that claims it can record a subject's dreams. Refugees from Paradigm City are disappearing and Roger and Dorothy may be next! THE BIG O: SEASON THREE
1. Chapter 1

_The Big O__ and all of its settings and characters are owned by Cartoon Network, Sunrise, and Bandai Visual. Additional plot, settings and characters are © by Chaosium._

THE BIG O:

ACT 31

DREAMS DARK AND DEADLY

_Big-O!_

_Big-O! Big-O! Big-O!_

_Big-O!_

_Big-O! Big-O! Big-O!_

_Cast in the name of God!_

**Negotiator**

_Ye not the guilty!_

**Android**

_We have come to terms!_

**Butler**

_Big-O!_

**Officer**

_Big-O!_

_Big-O! Big-O! Big-O!_

_Big-O!_

_Big-O! Big-O! -O! -O! Big-O!_

_Chapter One: Welcome to the Electric City _

_Over forty years ago, the world changed. One day everybody in Paradigm City woke up with total amnesia. The world outside seemed to be a desolate wasteland. But humans are adaptable creatures. If they can find out how to repair things and harness electricity, they can make some kind of civilization. If they don't trust that civilization they found their own settlements up north along the Hudson River. _

"Why did you take this case, Roger?" the alabaster skinned girl asked from the passenger front seat of the long black Cadillac. The petite teenager was dressed in a reddish black dress that had a white ruffled collar and formal white cuffs. A set of black stockings and shiny black shoes completed her ensemble. Her red pageboy cut hair was immaculate, her bangs broken by a black barrette. "It seems unlikely that the client's fee will cover the cost."

"This case is interesting Dorothy," replied the young man in the driver's seat. Unlike the girl he wasn't a teenager, but appeared to be in his mid-twenties. His broad shoulders and trim waist indicated both strength and agility. His jet-black hair, strong jaw and high cheekbones on his boyish face made him the definition of 'tall, dark, and handsome'. He was clad in a black suit consisting of black double-breasted jacket, matching trousers, shoes and gloves. His shirt was crisp and white and his black tie was bisected by a gray stripe. Opaque black sunglasses hid his eyes from few.

"How so?" the girl asked as her expressionless face looked at the barren scenery along the road. Roger had assured her that further up the river was mountains and forest, but so far everything looked like desert and scrub.

"The Winthrop Institute for Dream Research is one of the few research laboratories out by Electric City," Roger explained. "After the Union attacked and Big Fau devastated Paradigm City, Lawrence Winthrop allowed Walter Dandridge to create a special psychiatric facility at Dinosaur Lodge."

"What kind of psychiatric facility?" the redhead prompted in a neutral tone.

"Apparently, he created a machine that allows people to monitor and record someone's dreams."

"Record their dreams?" Dorothy repeated without the slightest hint of surprise.

"That's right," Roger nodded. "If dreams can be recorded, this could be how a person's Memories could be recovered. For all I know, this kind of technology might have removed our Memories over forty years ago!"

"Do you think that technology was used to drive Nora Pope insane?" the girl asked.

"Hard to say," Roger shrugged as the car drove up into the hills. "The Electric City sheriff found an assortment of psychogenic drugs in her room. She wasn't a patient. She was part of the staff; she worked there as a maid. Her parents insist that she was a teetotaler, didn't smoke, and even refused cola because of the caffeine in it. They can't believe that she'd mess around with narcotics."

"People lie all the time," Dorothy stated in her cold emotionless voice, "Especially to their parents. It's possible that Nora's parents didn't know everything about her."

"Did you ever lie to your father?" Roger asked slyly.

"Only at first, when I didn't know what I really meant," Dorothy replied without looking at him. "To be honest, he did all the lying for me."

"I think I understand," Roger decided to drop the subject. "I agree with you Dorothy. It's quite possible that everything in Electric City is on the up and up. But I'm still curious. I wonder if people in Paradigm City are dreaming of a sky replaced by a ceiling with giant stage lights…"

"I see," Dorothy said calmly. "You want to know if the Winthrop Institute is legitimate. You're hoping they can help you understand your own dreams."

"If Nora Pope really did overdose herself it would be nice to benefit from what the facility has to offer," Roger admitted. "But I doubt everything's so straightforward."

"Why do you say that?" Dorothy asked him.

"Call it a hunch," Roger sighed. "The promise of the Winthrop Institute is probably too good to be true."

They drove on for miles taking up most of the day. The further away from Paradigm City they got the greener the countryside became. By the time they got to Electric City the sun had set and the land was covered by trees. Apparently the proximity to the river and lake had allowed the ecosystem to recover from whatever devastated the world over forty years before, unlike the barren and blasted countryside outside Paradigm City.

Electric City wasn't as large as Paradigm City, but its buildings were modern. The skyscrapers looked out of place next to the rural surroundings. A huge dam dominated the lake by the town. Now that the denizens weren't afraid of a lake monster that fed on electricity anymore, there was talk of rebuilding the power plant that Roger has dismantled last year. It was strange seeing the modern buildings lit by gaslights and lanterns, but then Electric City had always been a backwater, at least until a few months ago.

Refugees had been pouring into Electric City after Big Fau and the Union almost took Paradigm City apart. Electric City didn't have any domes but the buildings filled up and a few people actually started converting buildings into hotels.

"I doubt they'll be receiving visitors at Dinosaur Lodge this late," Roger said as he turned into a parking lot in front of a building with a sign lit by a lantern. The sign had the word crudely painted 'HOTEL' on it.

When he entered the lobby, a bearded man in a flannel shirt was talking to the motel clerk. "Are you sure he didn't come back?" he asked. "He wouldn't just disappear like that!"

"I'm sorry sir, I can't explain it," the clerk apologized as he relit one of the candles on the counter before him. "He didn't come in."

"I thought that when we left Paradigm City, we'd get away from all this!" the bearded man moaned. "I expect people to disappear in the big city, but not out here! Are you sure the locals don't have it out for us?"

"I admit the people here are kind of insular," the clerk agreed, "but I come from Paradigm City too. You know what it's like. I can hardly blame them."

"Dammit, it's not just Bill, people have been disappearing all over the place!" the man in the flannel shirt exclaimed. "Bill and I were campin' out with our buddy Joe the night _he_ disappeared!"

"_Another_ disappearance?" Roger asked as he walked over to the desk.

"Who the hell are you?" The bearded man gave the negotiator a suspicious glare.

"Who am I? Why nobody at all," Roger assured him. "I'm a Paradigm City boy myself and this is my first night in town. If something is happening to strangers around here it's in my best interests to learn all about it. Don't want to disappear too. Forewarned is forearmed you know."

The man grunted as he looked suspiciously at Roger's expensive black suit. Compared to the clothes of the town's denizens and the refugees from Paradigm City, Roger was overdressed.

"You were talking about another friend who disappeared?" Roger prodded.

"Damn right!" the man growled. "A few nights back we was sittin' by the fire, sharin' a can of beans when all of a sudden, Joe puts down his spoon, gets up and shuffles off. I asked him where he's goin'. He says for a walk. How'd ya figure? Leaves Bill an' me and goes for a damn walk. Well, it was the unluckiest walk he ever took. He ain't come back yet! That's why Bill an' me decided to spend some of our savings stayin' here! And now Bill's gone too!"

"Have the locals reported any disappearances?" Roger asked as Dorothy entered carrying large and heavy suitcases.

"If they have, they haven't told me!" the man growled as he pushed past him and marched to the stairs. "I should have stayed in Paradigm!"

"What was that about Roger?" Dorothy asked him.

"I don't know Dorothy," he replied. "It sounds like things aren't as quiet as they seem. While we're out here we better keep our eyes open."

"Ah… would you and your lady friend like a room sir?" the clerk asked them.

"Yes," Roger said breezily. "Two adjoining rooms if you've got them, otherwise I'd like them across the hall from each other."

"I could put you in a suite so you could be together," the night clerk offered.

Roger gulped and looked over at the petite redhead nervously. "Uh, that won't be necessary! Two rooms will be fine! Honestly!"

"There's no need to be embarrassed sir, I'm from Paradigm City," the clerk blushed. "Back home lots of couples needed a room if you catch my meaning."

"Stop making these ridiculous insinuations!" Roger snarled. "Our relationship is not that way! You don't understand! This girl is an android!"

The sound of an electronic servo was heard as girl swiveled her head to face Roger.  
>"There seems to be something on your face, Roger Smith," she said coldly.<p>

Roger instinctively darted away from the slender android, despite the fact that she still held the heavy suitcases and stood perfectly still without making any threatening gestures. He coughed in embarrassment and went back to the clerk. "So I'd like two rooms please, if it's not too much trouble," he mumbled.

After Roger procured two rooms for the night, they climbed the stairs to the second floor. Roger carried a flashlight but Dorothy's barrette slid forward to reveal a rectangular halogen light in a cavity above her bangs. "Why aren't there any lights on?" she asked as they walked down the darkened hall. "Is there a power outage?"

"When I was here last time I dismantled the power plant," Roger shrugged. "Didn't want that electricity monster to regenerate itself. I figured it would be safer this way and in any case the residents of Electric City don't seem to like electricity."

"That makes it a very strange name for a town," Dorothy observed.

"Yes it is," Roger smiled. "Humans are much stranger than androids Dorothy. It's strange. The people back home all have a phobia when it comes to the dark but in this town, everyone is afraid of electricity. This looks like our rooms," he said as he shined his flashlight on a number on the door before he turned to her. "Here's your key. I'll take my bag now, Dorothy."

"Roger, why did you bring me with you?" The android's voice sounded shy as she handed him his suitcase and took the key to her room out of his gloved hand.

"Well Dorothy, if things work out, those Dream Research people will be analyzing my dreams," Roger replied as airily as he could.

"So?" Dorothy asked with childish impertinence. "Why did you bring me along? As I recall you're usually a fanatic when it comes to your privacy, Roger Smith."

"The police used a machine to view your visual memories a few months back during that 'android crusher' case didn't they?" the young man asked.

"Yes," the mechanical girl replied.

"So I can't think of a better person to bring along than someone who's already endured that kind of humiliation," Roger shrugged. "I can count on you to be understanding. Why else would I bring you along?"

"I thought it was because you were uneasy about leaving me in Paradigm City while you're gone," Dorothy replied. "Since you restored my Memories you've been very attentive. It's as if you're afraid to leave me alone for too long."

"Guess I should know better than to try to pull one over on you," Roger grin ed as he put his hands in his pockets and leaned against the wall. "Sorry if I dragged you away from anything, Dorothy. It's not fair for me to obsess on you like this. You don't mind do you?"

"Not at all," the android girl replied. "Usually you're an uncaring louse. Now you're actually concerned about me. I find it a refreshing change."

"I've always cared about you," Roger smiled, refusing to be troubled by her playful barb. Playful for her at least. "You're not the only one who can hide what they're feeling. There's a lot about me you don't know, Dorothy."

"Hopefully the Winthrop Institute for Dream Research is what it appears to be and you can find out what that is," Dorothy sparred. "Goodnight, Roger."

"Goodnight, Dorothy," he smiled as he carried his suitcase into his room and removed his tie. He opened the curtain to look out at the darkened streets of Electric City to see a man walking down the street with his hands outstretched in front of him. The moon shone down on the street illuminating it so Roger could see it was the bearded man in the flannel shirt. He was walking drunkenly, almost like a sleepwalker.

Roger opened the window and shouted at him. "Hey! Are you alright?"

The man ignored him and continued to walk down the street with his arms out in front of him. Roger had seen things like that in old movies but never in real life. Making a decision, the blackclad young man dashed back down the hall and down the stairs. When he got down to the street he looked both ways, but couldn't see the man anywhere.

It didn't make any sense. The man said that he was staying at the same hotel. Roger and Dorothy saw him go upstairs. So what was he doing on the street with his arms outstretched in front of him as if he couldn't see? Why would he leave his room after two of his friends had disappeared? Roger didn't like it, and suspected that yet another refugee from Paradigm City had gone missing in this town.

Roger shone his flashlight on the sidewalk, hoping to find some kind of clue that might reveal where the man had gone. He was startled when he heard Dorothy's voice calling to him from a second floor window. "Roger," her soft voice beckoned. "What are you doing out there?"

"I thought I saw something and wanted to check it out," Roger called over his shoulder. He smiled and waved reassuringly.

"Come back inside," Dorothy instructed. "That man in the lobby complained that his friends disappeared and I don't want that to happen to you. We're miles from home and I don't know how to drive the car."

"Ouch," Roger snickered as he rose to his feet. "Okay, Dorothy. Will do," he saluted sarcastically as he walked back into the hotel. When he returned to the second floor, he noticed that the door to Dorothy's room was ajar. She wouldn't leave it open like that. Was something wrong?

He opened the door and took a deep breath. There, silhouetted by the moonlight streaming in through the window was Dorothy, but not as he had ever seen her before. The moon shone off her marble white skin, exposing her slender feminine form to Roger's view. She had stripped to her undergarments and was in the process of folding her dress. She was only wearing black garters, stockings, panties and a bra. By contrast, her creamy white skin almost glowed in the dark.

The young man heard a mechanical whirring sound as Dorothy turned to him with unnatural fluidity. "Roger," she murmured in her gentle voice as her innocent yet enigmatic eyes met his. In front of Roger's disbelieving gaze she walked towards him as gracefully and silently as a cat. She stopped at the door and leaned forward, her face as beautiful and mysterious a professional model's, her dark eyes giving nothing away. She was close enough for Roger to smell the lemony scent of her shampoo…

* * *

><p>On a desk filled with hourglasses a phone rings. Roger's hand picks up the receiver and a sinister voice says:<p>

_Next: Welcome to Dinosaur Lodge_


	2. Welcome to Dinosaur Lodge

_The Big O__ and all of its settings and characters are owned by Cartoon Network, Sunrise, and Bandai Visual. Additional plot, settings and characters are © by Chaosium._

THE BIG O:

ACT 31

DREAMS DARK AND DEADLY

_Chapter Two: Welcome to Dinosaur Lodge_

"You really are a louse Roger Smith," the girl said before she closed the door.

"Ow!" Roger clutched his face, for the android had inadvertently hit his nose with the door. What had just happened? It wasn't Roger's fault that Dorothy left her door open was it? He probably should have apologized or said something clever instead of simply staring at her like a moonstruck calf but it still wasn't his fault! How could she leave her door ajar after warning him about people from Paradigm City disappearing? You'd think anyone whose Memories were as valuable as Dorothy's would develop a sense of caution, if not outright paranoia.

As Roger changed into his pajamas and got into bed he reflected on the fact that Electric City seemed to have just as much insanity as Paradigm City did. The man he met in the lobby is obviously a refugee from Paradigm City who decided to move away after Big Fau and the Union devastated the dystopian metropolis. Two of his friends had disappeared and just this evening Roger had seen him walking down Electric City's darkened streets like a sleepwalker. Was that poor devil going to disappear too? There would be no one who would miss him now.

Did the disappearances have anything to do with the fact that Nora Pope, a twenty-two year old housekeeper from Paradigm City had gone insane while working at the Winthrop Institute for Dream Research at Dinosaur Lodge just outside Electric City? The local law had found psychogenic drugs in her room but Nora's parents claimed she was a teetotaler who wouldn't even drink coffee, so they hired Roger Smith to find out what really happened.

Roger hoped that everything was as it seemed at Dinosaur Lodge because he hoped to benefit from the research that was going on there. He had used the fee Nora's parents paid him to check himself in as a volunteer patient at the institute. They claimed to have a machine that could actually record someone's dreams for later viewing. What better way to explore his own subconscious and find out why his sleep was plagued with surreal and disturbing dreams?

And on top of everything Dorothy left the door to her hotel room open, allowing Roger to see her in her underwear. He had to admit, her slender body looked more… grownup than he expected. That reddish black dress she wore could make her look fourteen years old, but without her dress Roger's libido would say she was closer to twenty! Not that he was a man to be controlled by his libido, but he was grateful nobody was recording his dreams _tonight_.

* * *

><p>The next morning neither Roger nor Dorothy mentioned the embarrassing incident. As they left Electric City and drove up into the forested hills Dorothy startled Roger by initiating some conversation. "Do you really want to give strangers access to your dreams?" she asked out of the blue.<p>

"Not particularly but I _am_ paying for it," Roger shrugged as he negotiated the car through the forest. "I've come with a huge check to finance their research. By making a contribution, I hope to be able to stick my nose into everyone's business."

"Very clever," Dorothy conceded. "By becoming a financial backer, it will be impossible for them to deny you access to anywhere you wish to go. But isn't it going to be expensive? There is no way that Nora Pope's family can possibly reimburse you for this."

"Not to worry," Roger winked. "I'm delivering the check by hand. If we uncover any funny business, I can always stop payment. If they're legitimate and they can help me, it will be money well spent."

"Do your dreams really bother you that much?" the android girl asked. "I still think that you're putting an awful lot of trust in the people who allowed Nora Pope to lose her mind. Isn't the institute supposed to be a psychiatric health clinic?"

"That's why I'm bringing you along," Roger nodded. "While I'm asleep, I can count on you to keep your eyes open. This must be the place," he added as the car rolled to a stop before a metal gate with blocking the road. A metal box on a short pole was at the height of the car window and had a large plastic button and a glass window on its face, along with a grill for a speaker. Roger lowered his window and pushed the button. "Roger Smith," he said into the speaker, hoping a microphone was hidden in there too. "I called ahead. Can you hear me?"

"_They_ seem to have electricity," Dorothy observed.

"The institute has its own generator," Roger informed her.

"Ah Mister Smith," the metal box crackled with a feminine voice. "We've been expecting you. I'm Rita Maeter, the secretary. Welcome to Dinosaur Lodge. I'll open the gate for you." A buzzing sound erupted from the box as the gate opened as if by invisible servants. "Come on in. There's plenty of parking out front."

"Thank you Miss Maeter, we'll be right in," Roger said before he rolled up the window and drove forward.

"She didn't sound like a 'Miss' to me," Dorothy commented. "She sounded older."

"A woman is always 'Miss' until otherwise noted," Roger smiled as the road turned east. "Especially if a man knows what's good for him," he winked.

The long black Cadillac drove over a bridge that allowed passage over a creek that emptied into a small lake to the south. The road made a loop forming a circle surrounded by three buildings before continuing on into the woods. The southern part of the circle was dominated by a four story mansion designed with towers cupolas, and gabled roofs. On the east side of the circle were two structures. The southernmost was a thirty foot circular tower of stone blocks. Just north of it was a two story square stone building that seemed more modern than the other two structures. All around the circle were parking spaces parallel to the road, and several were taken. The space right in front of the mansion was free. Apparently they left it for him. Roger parallel parked as a man came out of the mansion to meet him.

"Ah Mister Smith," greeted a handsome man in his fifties. "So good to see you. I'm Torrence Dandridge. I've heard so much about you."

"All good I hope," Roger winked as he got out of the car and shook the grey haired man's hand.

"And who is your lovely young companion?" the older man smiled as Dorothy exited from the passenger side.

"Doctor Dandridge, this is my ward, Miss Dorothy Wayneright," Roger gestured to the young android. "Her father died last year and I took her in."

"Please to meet you Miss Wayneright," the doctor extended his hand and paused when Dorothy took it. Confused, he looked at the tiny hand clasped in his paw.

"I'm an android," she explained patiently.

"Ah, I see," Dandridge stammered as he let go of her hand, but it was obvious he didn't see. Was she a person or a thing? Although he didn't seem sure he did his best to conceal his confusion. "Welcome to the Winthrop Institute. I hope you enjoy your stay here," he smiled uncomfortably.

"Thank you, Doctor Dandridge, I hope I do too," Dorothy replied.

"Harry and Ellen can take your bags to your rooms, Mister Smith," Dandridge turned his attention to the black clad negotiator.

"That's all right, Dorothy can get them," Roger replied as he used a tiny remote control to open the car's trunk. "After what happened to Nora Pope you must be shorthanded," he added as the android strode to the back of the car.

"Oh you heard about that?" Dandridge tried to act as if Roger's knowledge didn't bother him.

"That's kind of why I'm here," Roger shrugged. "I want to throw in my support before Paradigm panics and cuts the funding. What you're doing here is just too important. By showing my support I hope to convince the Paradigm Corporation to keep the project going."

Not even Dorothy could tell how much of Roger's words were true, so she kept quiet and took the luggage out of the car. The petite girl was a comical sight carrying all of those suitcases up the steps to the lodge, yet she seemed to have no trouble with the bulky bags.

"Not to worry, the Paradigm Corporation is only one of many contributors," Doctor Dandridge assured the young investor. "Most of our funding comes from patients and private parties such as yourself; although I have to admit that it was fortunate that we received the starting capital for the institute before that dreadful business that nearly tore the city apart a few months back. Is it true that Paradigm City was attacked by both foreign invaders and a white megadeus controlled by the corporation's chairman?"

"That's what I heard," Roger shrugged. "To be honest, I just ducked and covered when the bombs started dropping."

"Well there's no danger of that happening here," the scientist assured him. "Here at the Winthrop Institute there's nothing but peaceful surroundings and fresh air for miles around. I'm sure you can't wait to meet the staff and see the Dreamweb."

"I must confess I'm curious," Roger nodded. "Can it really record a person's dreams? Recover lost Memories? The advertisement sounded fantastic! "

"It is, it really is," Torrence Dandridge chuckled. "You won't believe the potential this technology has! This will send psychiatry forward a hundred years! It's in the lab building there," he gestured to the two story square stone building across the way. "Come on inside and take a look at it!" Dandridge led the way up the stone steps into a modern reception area where a middle-aged woman sat behind a desk.

"So how does it work?" Roger asked as Dandridge exited the entry chamber to lead him through a tasteful and luxurious lounge. "How does a machine manage to record a man's dreams?"

"The Dreamweb monitors minute electrical impulses and chemical changes in the brain of a sleeper, translating them into bits of data decipherable by a computer," he said as he ushered him into a hall that had thick glass windows on the interior wall. "The Datamaster processes that information into a video image. By inducing minor chemical changes in a sleeper's bloodstream and applying electrical stimuli, dreams can be slightly altered, though the precise nature of the induced changes is still unpredictable. Our research proceeds slowly, with great care."

"Datamaster?" Roger peered through the interior windows to see white room with banks of computers against the exterior walls. In the center was a circular glassed-in chamber surrounded by control panels, monitoring stations and swivel chairs. In the center of the circular chamber was a plush examination couch.

"That's what we call the main computer for the institute," Dandridge nodded as they continued down the hall. Roger noted that there were doors on the exterior walls, perhaps leading into offices or laboratories. "The Datamaster and the generator are under the skinny carillon tower that's next to the building." The hall turned left at a square angle and they continued walking before stopping at a door at the interior door. "Well, here it is," Dandridge smiled. "Care to take a closer look at the Dreamweb?"

"I'd be honored," Roger smiled as they entered a tiny airlock style room with multiple circular depressions in the walls. Their shoes made scrunching noises on the tacky pad beneath them as the walls roared as the circular depressions revealed themselves to be miniature vacuum nozzles.

Dandridge opened the interior door and ushered Roger into the chamber filled with control panels and monitors he had seen from the hall. "Well here we are," the scientist said proudly.

"So that's where it all happens is it?" Roger commented breezily.

"Yes," Dandridge nodded. "Dozens of electrodes are taped to key points on the subjects head and body. Wires, from the electrodes extend to the banks of sockets mounted on the curved wall… There. You can see some of them where the light hits the shiny black surface there. When it's in operation the whole chamber has a rather spidery look to it, hence the name 'Dreamweb'."

"And that can get inside a person's dreams can it?" Roger's voice was skeptical.

"Absolutely," Dandridge acknowledged. "You see those banks of consoles that display the input from the electrodes? Researchers can track incoming data while simultaneously keeping an eye on the dreamer too. Some of our subjects have commented that it's like being in a goldfish bowl."

"And what does a subject… do exactly?" Roger asked with mild trepidation. "What is he here for? Is he a patient or a volunteer? Does he have a job?"

"Does he have a job?" Dandridge seemed to find the question amusing. "His job is simply to dream. That's it. Volunteers only have to dream while hooked up to the machine. That's it. In return they get a peaceful mountain vacation."

"I thought that this was some sort of psychiatric facility," Roger protested. "Don't you treat mental patients here or something?"

"Yes, but currently we only have one actual patient at the Institute," Dandridge explained. "It doesn't matter if there are any psychiatric maladies in a subject's medical record. On the contrary, such volunteers are actively sought!"

Roger smiled and nodded. It took almost all of his willpower to avoid saying, 'You sound like your brochure'. Instead he continued his line of questioning. "Only one patient? That's a little unusual for a psychiatric facility don't you think?"

"Well we have only two psychiatrists on the staff," Dandridge shrugged. "They sent their patients back to Paradigm City when they had their rooms fumigated. All part of the charm of living out here in the country I suppose. But don't worry, there's nothing wrong with your room I assure you."

"Rooms," Roger corrected. "Miss Wayneright is my ward, not my wife."

"Of course, Mister Smith," Dandridge shrugged. "Slip of the tongue. Do you want to see your rooms or do you want to see a demonstration?"

"I admit I'm interested," Roger nodded.

"You understand that each subject's dreams are technically their creative property," Dandridge pointed out. "Only the subject, the technicians, and the subject's psychiatrist have the right to view a subject's dream."

"Is the research so far along that people's dreams are legally protected?" Roger asked jokingly.

"Legally no, but ethically yes," Dandridge shrugged. "I'm having my assistant Burton Fielding edit some sample dreams for viewing. Right to privacy and all that. After all, if you or Miss Wayneright wish to have your dreams recorded, I'm sure you don't want them available for public viewing."

"Do androids have dreams I wonder?" Roger asked as he remembered Dorothy.

"I don't see why not, they have Memories," Dandridge shrugged. "It depends on how advanced the android is. If you're curious about Miss Wayneright, I could ask Fielding to run some tests on her."

"Fielding?" Roger prompted.

"Burton Fielding, my assistant," Dandridge clarified. "He's an absolute wizard with machinery. He's the only one I trust to run the Dreamweb. He's no psychiatrist, but when it comes to electronics or computers, he's your man. He's the only one aside of myself who knows how the Dreamweb actually works."

"How did you manage to build such an incredible wonder in the first place?" Roger asked while appealing to the older man's ego to procure information. "Memory fragment? Or are you just gifted?"

"I owe it all to the androids," Dandridge shrugged. "You remember that 'android crusher' case a few months back? Well I was one of the experts brought in to try to restore the destroyed androids to life. Although it proved impossible, I _did _notice the similarity to the electronic impulses in their cerebral circuitry to the neural pathways in the human brain. I figured that if a machine could imitate human thought it was possible to create one that could read and record human thought as well. Just think of the implications for psychiatry and social engineering!"

"Social engineering?" Roger managed to keep the suspicion out of his voice.

"Yes," replied the enthusiastic scientist. "Even if it proves impossible to regain the Memories that were lost forty years ago, it should still be possible to monitor the dreams and even modify the behavior of subjects who spend sessions in the Dreamweb. Addictions, phobias, criminal impulses, all sorts of negative antisocial behavior could be cured by this technology. The possibilities are endless!"

It sure was, Roger thought. Dandridge was implying that the Web could mold the very minds of human beings, changing the very personalities of the people it was designed to help. It could very well be the perfect brainwashing tool! No wonder the Paradigm Corporation gave them the money to get started. Those in power would do anything to keep it, and those without power would do anything to get it.

* * *

><p>On a desk filled with hourglasses a phone rings. Roger's hand picks up the receiver and a sinister voice says:<p>

_Next: Enjoy Your Stay_


	3. Enjoy Your Stay

_The Big O__ and all of its settings and characters are owned by Cartoon Network, Sunrise, and Bandai Visual. Additional plot, settings and characters are © by Chaosium._

THE BIG O:

ACT 31

DREAMS DARK AND DEADLY

_Chapter Three: Enjoy Your Stay_

While Roger was in the lab building, Dorothy carried the suitcases into the lodge. Behind the massive wood and cobblestone front porch and the oak paneled front doors was a spacious two story lobby. Impossible to ignore, just within the main entry was a gigantic mounted skeleton of some massive reptilian beast. A sign mounted on a slender brass stand identified it as _Allosaurus fragilis_, and claimed that the specimen in question had existed over 150 million years ago.

"Can we help you with those?" a young woman's voice asked. Dorothy turned her head to see a tall shapely blonde and a man with red hair and freckles coming down a set of stairs to walk over to her. The woman was in a maid's uniform but the man was only wearing casual clothing. They both appeared to be only in their mid-twenties, but so did Roger and _he_ claimed to be older than he looked. "Here, let us take those for you," the woman offered as she reached for the bags.

"Let _me_ take those Ellen," the young man said as he pulled a suitcase out of the blonde's hand. "Lord knows you have enough to do around here with Nora gone," he muttered under his breath.

"Thanks, Harry, you're a lifesaver," Ellen sighed as she turned around to head back up the stairs.

"Nora?" Dorothy asked as she relinquished the suitcases to the young man. "What happened to her?"

"Hell if I know," the man shrugged as he struggled with the bags. "One night she just snapped. We're not supposed to talk about it. Hey… these things are heavy! How did you manage to carry all of them in here by yourself?"

"I'm stronger than I look," the android girl informed him. "You don't have to worry about me. I'm only an assistant. I can help you with them if you want."

"Uh, thanks," he said as he chose to just take two of them. Behind him Dorothy crouched to gather the remaining suitcases up and carry them in a stack. "Uh, are you sure you're okay with carrying them all at once? We're going upstairs y'know."

"I have a fine sense of balance," Dorothy assured him. "You were talking about Nora Pope."

"You know her, Miss Smith?" he asked as they started for the staircase.

"Miss Wayneright," Dorothy corrected. "I'm Roger Smith's ward. To be honest, I'm little more than a housekeeper."

"Well if you're bored, Ellen could use the help," the freckled man joked as they climbed the stairs. "With Nora gone she has to clean the whole place by herself."

"What do you do if it's okay to ask?" Dorothy questioned.

"I'm the handyman," he replied. "Name's Harry Jones. I fix stuff around here. Keep the place from falling apart. I also serve as an orderly and do other odd jobs when everything's working."

"Dorothy Wayneright," the android introduced herself. "I'm no stranger to odd jobs. Have you worked here long?"

"None of us have," Harry said as they reached the second floor. "We've only been up and running for a few months," he added as he started up the next flight of stairs. "I hear it took forever to install the Dreamweb."

"And who is this lovely young lady?" a cultured voice called. A tall, silver haired gentleman in a white frilled shirt, burgundy velvet smoking with matching evening trousers and formal boots approached them. A large burgundy bowtie completed his dandyish ensemble. "Lawrence Winthrop, m'dear. Let me help you. I may be getting on but I'm not too old to help a lady." He held out gloved hand and plucked the top suitcase from Dorothy's load.

"Lawrence Winthrop, as in the Winthrop Institute?" Dorothy asked. The old man's accent reminded Dorothy of Roger's butler, Norman Burg. Norman had an accent that was very similar to Lawrence Winthrop's. Even the slang he used was similar.

"The same," the old man smiled, showing off the laugh lines on his face. "Oh I'm not a scientist or anything. Unless you want to count collecting old books published before the event that erased our memories counts. I hope to publish a monograph on my theories about the world that was someday." He glanced up the stairs to see Harry Jones waiting for them before taking a second suitcase from Dorothy. "Only one more flight to go my dear. Come on, you can make it."

"Don't worry about me," Dorothy said as she followed the old man upstairs.

"I'm afraid we've crammed you into the third floor west wing," the old man apologized as he climbed the stairs. "This way," he said as they followed Harry Jones down an upstairs hall. "Lovely view out the windows, don't you think? He added breezily. "You can almost see Wendigo Creek from here. My father Douglas owned the place. I had the place renovated after he died. A wonderful example of Pre-Amnesia architecture isn't it?" he added gesturing at the oak paneled walls with his head as they turned into an adjoining wing.

"Here are your rooms, Miss Wayneright," Harry Jones said as he set down the suitcases without fanfare. "You and Mister Smith have this room and the corner one. The bath is through that door across from the corner room. Hope you enjoy your stay." Despite his polite words, Harry Jones seemed tired and irritable, as if he couldn't wait to get away from her. The young man left the girl and the old man as quickly as decorum allowed.

"Well, I'm sure you'll want to get settled in," Lawrence Winthrop said as he handed her a set of keys. "I'll be downstairs if you need me. Lunch is at one if you're interested. Good day."

* * *

><p>Dorothy unpacked and then set out exploring her surroundings. The place was more like a vacation lodge than the housing facility of a research center, with oak paneled walls, broad verandas and well-furnished sunlit rooms. Most of the rooms were unlocked. Apparently the keys that Winthrop gave her were simply so she and Roger could lock their doors for privacy if they wished.<p>

The first locked door she found was at the end of a hall in the east wing. The room beyond must have been facing the front of the house. With her unnaturally sharp hearing, she heard a guitar strumming and a melancholy masculine voice sing:

"_In the water,_ _when you cross the weave of Dreams,_

_Dead and gone ain't what it seems."_

Her unnaturally acute hearing also allowed her to hear footsteps coming up behind her. She looked over her shoulder to see a plump and balding middle-aged man in a cheap suit. A cloud of smoke briefly obscured his features. "Who are you, little missy?" he asked as he waved a thick cigar in his stubby fingers, "and what are you doing listening at Johnny's door? You the replacement housekeeper that's supposed to replace the one who lost her mind or something?"

"I'm Dorothy Wayneright," the girl said as she turned with unnaturally fluid movement to face him. "I'm a guest here at the Institute. I came here with Roger Smith. Who are you?"

"Joe Schienfeld," the man nodded before taking another puff on his cigar. "Don't mean to be pushy sweetheart, but you're tryin' to take a peep at my investment and I'd rather you respected his privacy, know what I'm sayin'?"

"Who is in there?" Dorothy asked. "And what do you mean 'investment'?"

"Come away from there, toots, we can speak over here," Schienfeld tugged on her sleeve and led her to an elegant lounge in the rear tower. The windows in the curved walls let in a lot of sunlight and gave the room a spacious, cheery atmosphere. "Johnny's one of the best song-writer and rhythm guitarists in Paradigm City. I'm his agent… and his best friend. He fried his brains out with booze and drugs and now he can only communicate by playin' the guitar and spoutin' these creepy symbolic lyrics. They make great tunes but I hope this place can get his mind back. Know what I'm sayin'? Why are you here?"

"I told you," Dorothy replied. "I came here with Roger Smith."

"So you're the new guinea pigs huh?" he grinned. "They're always lookin' for volunteers. Do you know what happened to the other patients?"

"The other patients?" Dorothy repeated.

"Yeah, there were four others, but they all seem to be gone," Schienfeld looked around suspiciously. "Did they move 'em out or somthin'? So baby, who brought you over here? Was it Torrance Dandridge? That weaselly little suck-up. He's got plans of his own. You can smell it on him."

"Don't you trust him?" the girl asked.

"Baby, I'm in show biz," Schienfeld grinned as he drew a smoky trail in the air with his cigar. "I don't trust anybody or anything! You were snoopin' weren't ya? Don't worry, I can keep a secret. And so can most of the other people around here, if ya know what I'm sayin'," he winked conspiratorially.

"What do you mean?" Dorothy prodded.

"Take Burton Fielding, Dandridge's assistant," Schienfeld sneered. "Talk about a hostile and antisocial cuss! He's hiding secrets, an' you can quote me on that! That boy keeps to himself too much. He needs to get into town, instead of twiddling with his gizmo."

"By gizmo do you mean the Dreamweb?" Dorothy questioned. "I thought that Torrance Dandridge invented the Dreamweb."

"Did he? I keep forgettin' that," Schienfeld scratched the side of his head. "I've never seen Dandridge even touch it. Fielding's always the one runnin' the machinery. So you gonna get your dreams dissected or what? Have ya made an appointment with one of the shrinks yet? They're kind of hard to get ahold of sometimes aren't they?"

"In what way?"

"Damnedest thing," Schienfeld shrugged. "There's more people coming and going in the middle of the night than broad daylight. Fielding sneaks into the lab building when he thinks no one's lookin' and Doctor Weemes takes off for the woods. Hell, I even caught the chef drivin' off one night."

"How strange," Dorothy agreed.

"Ya got that right," Schienfeld nodded. "It's not like there's anyplace open in Electric City! Boy that place has gotta be the most poorly named town in the world. No night life at all! The people there get up at sunup and go to bed at sundown! No electricity in that burg, and they call it Electric City. Don't that beat all?"

"It certainly is strange all right," Dorothy nodded. "Are you a volunteer here at the institute? Have they studied your dreams?"

Schienfeld seemed to find the question funny. "Baby, I'm just visitin', I'm not a patient! I'm not lettin' 'em pick around in my brain until there's somethin' wrong with it! But if I _did_ volunteer I'd make an appointment with Doctor Ivanovna."

"Why? Is Ivanovna a better psychiatrist than Doctor Weemes?" Dorothy asked.

"No, but she's hella fine!" he smiled lecherously. "That spunky broad knows what she's on about!"

With her back to the windows, the shadows in the room made Dorothy's neutral expression look like a frown.

* * *

><p>Two floors beneath her, Roger Smith was filling out the forms, applications and waivers that all volunteers were required to fill out before entering the Dreamweb program. An attractive brunette in her late thirties entered the office and sat down. "Good morning, Mister Smith," she greeted as she extended her hand. "I'm Doctor Marina Ivanovna, one of the two licensed psychiatrists here at the institute."<p>

"Pleased to meet you Doctor Ivanovna," Roger purred as he kissed her hand. "I'd need a psychiatrist not to want to lie down on _your_ couch."

Ivanovna giggled and blushed as she took off her tinted glasses to play with them coquettishly. "Aren't _you_ a charmer? Are you as forward with girls your own age Mister Smith?"

"Call me Roger, and I assure you, I'm older than I look," he grinned mischievously. "I understand that one of your housekeepers had a problem, and I dashed to the rescue before any of my fellow investors backed out."

"That's very chivalrous of you, Mister Smith," the lady psychiatrist said before she caught herself. "Sorry. _Roger_," she said putting emphasis on his first name. "You know about Miss Pope's breakdown?"

"Only that she had suffered some trauma that left her in a sanitarium," Roger shrugged. "Why? Is what happened to her catching?"

"I don't know. The mental conditions all the patients went downhill after that night," Ivanovna shook her head. "I don't understand it. Carl… Doctor Weemes and I sent most of our patients back to Paradigm City until we can discover the reason."

"That's too bad," Roger tilted his head sympathetically. "I hope you and the staff are okay."

"Well, now that you mention it, the rest of the researchers have become care-worn and grumpy," she admitted. "Even _I've_ been displaying these symptoms. I can't explain them. It's as if we're not getting any sleep or something."

"It could be just stress," Roger shrugged, "or do you think it's something more?"

"I don't know what to think," the doctor shook her head again. "You'd think I would have spotted something. Oh well, let's stop talking about her and talk about _you_, Roger Smith. I presume you've filled out the proper forms?"

"Yes, and here is my psychological profile from my days in the military police," the negotiator said as he handed her a sealed manila envelope. "It's a bit outdated since I haven't seen a therapist since I left the service, but hopefully it will give you something to work with."

"Don't worry, your mental health is probably better documented better than most of the volunteers we've had," she assured him. She sat down behind her desk. "So… Roger… what stoked your interest in your dreams in the first place?"

Roger pulled on his collar and leaned back in his chair in an attempt to look nonchalant. "Oh, nothing you haven't heard before. All that recent chaos back in Paradigm City has shook loose the demons and psychoses that all of us have and brought them to the surface. I thought this would be a good time to examine them for myself and put them in perspective."

"What kind of 'demons and psychoses' are we talking about?" Marina Ivanovna prodded. "Sounds like something you couldn't ignore."

"Oh, you know," Roger smiled and tried not to fidget. "Nightmares, paranoia, phobias, that sort of thing."

"Phobias of what?" Marina Ivanovna asked him. "Go on, you can tell me."

"I've had nightmares of giant robots attacking a burning city," Roger confessed. "Full megadeuses. The Bigs. The white one that Rosewater piloted, the flying one that's red and gold, and the black one that always shows up to stop whatever giant robot is attacking Paradigm City. The three of them, working together to tear down what mankind built. As if whole thing had to go and make room for something else. It's…" he searched for the right words. "I don't know what it is..." he admitted.

"It's understandable when you consider how many times Paradigm City got attacked by giant robots last year," Doctor Ivanovna assured him. "I understand that earlier this year a construction robot malfunctioned and attacked Military Police Headquarters. Who _isn't_ having nightmares about the megadeuses?"

"No it's more than that," Roger sighed. How much to tell her? Everyone who claimed to have Memories from the world before had been murdered almost a year ago. Did he really want to tempt fate by revealing that he might have forty-year-old Memories also? If the Dreamweb really _could_ read his dreams wouldn't that do the same thing? This was harder than he thought. He had always been a private person. Now he was inviting perfect strangers to poke around in his head. "I'm sorry Doctor; this is very hard for me. I've always thought of myself as independent. Trust doesn't come easy for me."

"Is there anything I can do to make you more comfortable?" Ivanovna asked him.

"Not without losing your license," he winked back mischievously.

"Oh you!" she laughed in embarrassment. "You're horrible!"

* * *

><p>On a desk filled with hourglasses a phone rings. Roger's hand picks up the receiver and a sinister voice says:<p>

_Next: Pleasant Dreams_


	4. Pleasant Dreams

_The Big O__ and all of its settings and characters are owned by Cartoon Network, Sunrise, and Bandai Visual. Additional plot, settings and characters are © by Chaosium._

THE BIG O:

ACT 31

DREAMS DARK AND DEADLY

_Chapter Four: Pleasant Dreams_

Dorothy stared at the large threatening skeleton mounted in the front lobby. What was _Allosaurus fragilis_, and why did whoever created that sign think it existed over 150 million years ago? The sign was faded, no doubt a copy of the laminated one on the wall that was over forty years old. It was those who lived before everyone lost their Memories who figured out how old the skeleton was, but since no one knew how they calculated its age no one could check their math.

Dorothy strolled over to the west side of the building and found Ellen the housekeeper setting the table in an elegant dining room. "Hello," the little android said quietly.

"Oh, you startled me," the housemaid replied, although she seemed more focused than frightened. "Didn't see you there."

"Dorothy Wayneright," the android introduced herself. "I'm Roger Smith's ward and live-in housekeeper. I usually spend my day doing what you're doing now. Do you need any help?"

"Yes, but it would take too long to show you the routine," the tall blonde smiled. "Don't trouble yourself."

"It's no trouble," Dorothy assured her. "I was looking for something to do. Is it hard now that Nora Pope doesn't work here anymore?"

"Why? Are you looking for a position here?" Ellen joked. "I'd really appreciate it."

"Perhaps I should look into it," Dorothy said. "Did Nora like working here?"

"Actually no," the leggy blonde admitted. "I don't know if the whole 'Dream Research' thing was getting to her. We've all had nightmares but after all that's happened in Paradigm City who doesn't? She didn't really like the boss that much, and our chef gave her the creeps."

"She didn't like Lawrence Winthrop?" Dorothy asked. "He seems pleasant enough."

"He is, but she had mixed feelings about Mister Winthrop," Ellen laughed. "'He's so strange' she once said, "like he's keeping some horrible secret.' No she didn't have a problem with Mister Winthrop; it was Doctor Dandridge she didn't care for. She felt he was a phony."

"How come?" the petite redhead prodded.

"I don't know," Ellen shrugged. "Probably because he's so eager to take charge but so hesitant to actually _do_ anything." She laughed nervously while glancing around. "I guess nobody appreciates the boss no matter _who_ he is," she grinned sheepishly.

"Was there anybody she ever had a hard time with?" Dorothy asked.

"Well, to be honest, she _really_ didn't like Gilbert Manes, our chef, if you know what I mean," Ellen lowered her voice conspiratorially. "She often remarked that there was something fishy about him. I don't think she liked him looking at her when she went swimming in the lake." The blonde glanced at a door where the noise of a kitchen could be heard. "Excuse me; I've got to get back to work."

"I understand, sorry to keep you," Dorothy said as Ellen left the room. She looked at the door to the kitchen for exactly thirty seconds before entering.

Inside the spacious kitchen was a squat homely man with bulging eyes and peeling skin. His balding head was covered with a chef's hat and he wore white clothing to match. He turned his head to stare at the girlish android who intruded on his culinary domain. When it came to staring contests Gilbert Manes was no amateur, but even so, it was he who blinked first. His large fishy eyes surveyed her several times before he finally spoke. "May I help you, Miss? Is there something I can do for you?"

"I'm new here," Dorothy said. "My name is Dorothy Wayneright. I didn't mean to intrude. Will lunch be ready soon?"

"Should be about ten minutes," he smiled uncomfortably.

"Thank you," she bowed her head. "I'll get out of your way now," she added before she turned and left.

The homely chef cracked open the door and watched the girl walk through the dining room with perfect posture and a dainty gait before turning his attention back to the noontime meal.

* * *

><p>Later Dorothy was standing out by the lake. On the distant shore she could see Electric City and the hydroelectric dam. The wind rustled through the trees and through her hair and dress as the water lapped up near her shoes.<p>

"You weren't at lunch today," Roger's voice scolded as the black clad young man walked up to her.

"I don't have to eat," she said without turning around, "and I took the opportunity to change."

"So I see," Roger commented as he surveyed her clothing. "That dress looks like the one you wore when we first met doesn't it?"

Dorothy glanced down at the clothes covering her body. The dress was a short sleeved green sundress with a narrow waist and a wide pleated knee-high skirt. A white collar matched the white cuffs the short sleeves that didn't even reach the elbow. Two large white buttons were centered on the blouse but the other four were on the skirt that formed a line down her front. Her pale lavender shoes were the same color as the headband that covered her bangs. The dress gave her an innocent girlish look while at the same time emphasizing her femininity. "I hadn't noticed," she commented dryly. "You liked me in that dress if I remember," she added. "You said that I was 'impressively well built' and a 'mechanical marvel'."

"It looks nice but why the change?" Roger crossed his arms as he surveyed her, "I thought you were happy wearing your normal outfit and besides, it really isn't the right time of year to wear something like this."

"It's customary to wear it after your father's died," Dorothy countered, "but I would hardly describe black as a 'happy' color. I simply wanted to wear something different today and since we aren't spending the night under your roof I assumed that the 'wearing black' rule didn't apply. When we return to Paradigm City I'll be content to dress like the undertaker's daughter if that's what you wish. Did you have a nice lunch?"

"Yes, and I met Lawrence Winthrop," Roger nodded. "A wily old rascal if I ever met one. We had the most bizarre conversation during lunch."

"How so?" Dorothy asked.

"He seemed really interested in asking me questions without answering any," Roger smiled wryly. "He wanted to know all about my past but was charmingly evasive about his own, always politely turning the conversation back to me."

"You're often the same way," Dorothy commented.

"I know," Roger laughed. "That's why I said it was such a bizarre conversation! Both of us trying to find out about the other while trying to give nothing away! Thank goodness Dandridge and the other doctors were there."

"Was Joe Schienfeld there?" the girl asked.

"Yes, and he was no slouch when it came to nosiness!" Roger chuckled. "Unlike poor Winthrop and I _he_ was willing to be obnoxious and willing to talk about himself and his client once and while. Winthrop and I were more interested in getting information than sharing it. I'm not sure that Lawrence Winthrop trusts me."

"Were you able to find out anything about Nora Pope?" Dorothy queried.

"During my interview, Mariana Ivanonva revealed some interesting things to me," he smiled playfully. "It seems that after Nora Pope's breakdown they sent most of their patients back to Paradigm City because their mental health was deteriorating."

"Torrance Dandridge said that their rooms were being fumigated," Dorothy said.

"That's right," Roger nodded. "I didn't expect him to be completely honest with us. That's why I turned on the charm to see what I could get out of Doctor Ivanovna. Deep down, I think she's worried. Apparently, it's not just the patients who've been having problems. Haven't you noticed that everyone here seems tired and overworked despite the fact that we're the only volunteers at the institute? Only one patient is still here. What do they have to be tired about?"

"I don't know," Dorothy replied. "Did you say that we are _both_ volunteers?"

"That's right," Roger nodded. "It might be interesting to let them take a look at _your_ Dreams too. You could find out all sorts of things about yourself. In the meantime I'm going to keep searching the rooms of our hosts and see if I can find any more clues…"

"Roger I don't _want_ strangers to look at my Dreams," Dorothy told him.

"I don't _want_ strangers to look at _my_ dreams either Dorothy, but they're the only ones with the technology," Roger put his hands in his pockets and traced a doodle in the dirt with his shoe. "You're always asking me tricky questions about the human condition. I just thought it would be illuminating to see if the answers are already within you that's all. You don't have to have your dreams recorded by these people if you don't want to, Dorothy. I just thought it would be educational." When she just looked at him coolly he took a deep breath and continued. "Look, if you want to know how your mind works these people can help you. After all the hallucinations I've had I'm really interested in how _my_ mind works. Don't you want to know the same?"

"Will I get to see _your _Dreams?" Dorothy asked him.

"What?" Roger started. "What are you talking about?"

"Will I get to see _your_ Dreams, Roger Smith?" Dorothy's voice had a slight edge. "It is obvious that you will see mine."

"Dorothy, your Dreams are your creative property," Roger assured her. "They're only for the eyes of you and your therapist. I can only see them if you officially give me permission to."

"You introduced me as your ward," Dorothy pointed out. "That implies that you have legal guardianship over me and my property. In addition you have arrived bearing a large check that the institute could use to continue its research. I have no doubt that you could convince them to let you see my Dreams if you wanted to."

"That's below the belt!" protested a blushing Roger. "Why would I be interested _your_ Dreams anyway? They're probably all in binary!"

"I don't see why not," Dorothy challenged. "You seemed awfully interested in my body last night."

"You left your door open!" Roger shouted. "You left your door open after warning me that people from Paradigm City are disappearing! I thought that something had happened to you! Any normal person would have locked their door if they were afraid that someone was out to get them but you left yours wide open! What did you expect me to do?"

"Behave like a gentleman," Dorothy suggested. "If you're going to stare, you could at least apologize or say something to put me at ease."

"I'm sorry Dorothy, next time I walk in on you by accident I'll prostrate myself at your feet and beg for your forgiveness!" he said sarcastically. "Would that help?"

"It would be a start," she said. It was hard to tell but she could have been smiling.

Roger stared into her eyes for almost half a minute before he broke out laughing. "You are something!" he chuckled. "Had me going. Okay Dorothy, point taken. I'll be more respectful of your privacy if you promise not to complain about me not taking an interest in you. I remember some conversations in the past where it seemed that you resented me giving you _too much_ privacy."

"All good things in moderation," Dorothy conceded. "I may be an ignorant android, but I need to remember that _you're_ only human."

"That's all right, everybody from Paradigm City has problems with Memory," Roger put his arm around her shoulder good-naturedly. "In the meantime, let's find out about our hosts and see if we trust them enough to let them pry into our Dreams shall we?" he added as he turned her around and led her back to the lodge. "We can't put off using the Dreamweb for _too_ long or they might get suspicious."

"Do you really think that there's something going on or is it just paranoia?" Dorothy asked. "Are you just making excuses because you value your privacy or is it because deep down you don't want to know?"

"I don't have an honest answer for that one," Roger admitted. "One of the reasons I brought you along is because I can trust you objectively assess my behavior. Norman would be too polite."

"I shall endeavor to be as brutally honest as possible then," she promised.

"That's my girl," he squeezed her shoulder again. "After your interview with Doctor Ivanovna see if you can use your ingenuous charm to keep our hosts busy so I can go through the rest of their rooms. You can learn all sorts of things about someone by examining their personal quarters."

"I don't recall making an appointment with Doctor Ivanovna," Dorothy murmured.

"See?" he smiled impishly. "I _told_ you that everyone from Paradigm City has problems with Memory!"

Dorothy's impassive face appeared to be frowning.

* * *

><p>"Here she is," Roger announced as he ushered the surly android into Doctor Ivanonva's office. "I've filled out most of your paperwork for you," he told the mechanical girl. "Doctor Ivanonva will ask you a few questions and establish your psychological baseline for you. Then anytime you're ready you can use the Dreamweb. Simple huh?"<p>

"You're a louse, Roger Smith," Dorothy's voice was unusually sharp for an android. She was getting better at expressing herself.

"So I've been told," he chuckled. "Well I'll give the two of you some privacy and be back later," he added as he walked away. To be honest, Dorothy's interview was just a smokescreen. Marina Ivanovna's office was in the lab building and Roger wanted a closer look at the Dreamweb before either one of them used it.

* * *

><p>Soon Roger was in the monitoring chamber surrounding the heart of the building. Five monitoring stations and two observation areas all had screens, ostensibly for monitoring the dreams of the subject resting in the glassed-in chamber. Roger studied the machinery and it all seemed to do what Dandridge said it did, but until someone went to sleep who would know?<p>

His investigation of the building eventually led him to a flight of stairs to a locked basement door. Rita Maeter, the middle-aged secretary had gone home to Electric City for the night so it wasn't as if anyone was keeping an eye on him.

Roger reached into his jacket and extracted what looked like a huge ball point pen. Pressing his glove onto the large clip caused a narrow strip of metal to spring out in a stiletto-like fashion. He placed the strip into the lock and when he extracted it, the strip of metal was marked with the jagged teeth of a key. Pressing the device back into the keyhole and giving it a sharp twist caused the lock to emit a satisfying 'click' as the door opened.

He found a large room cluttered with conduits, pipes, empty boxes, and a few auxiliary components for the Dreamweb overhead. Roger found a second locked door with a sign posted on it that said:

**DREAMWEB CLEAN ROOM**

_Do Not Enter_

Never one to follow someone else's rules, Roger used his stiletto-style lockpick to open this door also.

In the room beyond was a primitive but efficient laboratory set up around a weird device attached to numerous control and monitoring instruments. The device consisted of a ten foot diameter circular platform with a hard transparent surface. Beneath a precise arrangement of glass lenses was visible. Around the platform and attached to it by curving plastic struts were four smooth-edged rectangular consoles. The inner surfaces facing the platform of these consoles were also transparent, revealing more glass lenses within. A duplicate of the platform was suspended from the ceiling and was connected to the four consoles by flinger-thick fiber-optic cables. The device was connected to the Dreamweb itself, but somehow Roger didn't think it was part of the Dreamweb. This was a completely different machine based on the same technology.

A footfall alerted the young investigator to someone creeping up behind him. He looked behind him just in time to see what looked like a wrench heading towards his head. He put his arm up but the blow sent him tumbling onto the circular platform. Fireworks went off in his head and he felt like he was in Ferris wheel spinning at a hundred miles per hour. He made an attempt to stay conscious, but the second blow made the lights go out.

As the world wobbled around before lurching out the door, Roger thought he heard a voice whisper, "Pleasant dreams."

* * *

><p>On a desk filled with hourglasses a phone rings. Roger's hand picks up the receiver and a sinister voice says:<p>

_Next: Just Fishing _


	5. Just Fishing

_The Big O__ and all of its settings and characters are owned by Cartoon Network, Sunrise, and Bandai Visual. Additional plot, settings and characters are © by Chaosium._

THE BIG O:

ACT 31

DREAMS DARK AND DEADLY

_Chapter Five: Just Fishing_

Roger drifted back into consciousness, aided by the blinding light in his face. He heard somewhere that during a near death experience one shouldn't head towards the light, but there was no avoiding it. It was only when he started waking up did he realize that someone was shining a lamp in his face. Since it hurt to open his eyes, he flexed his arms and discovered that he was tied to a swivel chair. He grit his teeth and stopped his groaning so he could listen for any clues of where he was or who did this to him. Electronic hums were audible, so was air conditioning. He heard someone breathing and moving around while trying to be quiet, but the floor made the fellow's shoes sound like a bass drum player.

"Aren't you going ask me any questions… Mister Fielding?" Roger said with as much bravado as he could muster.

"H-how do you know it's me?" gasped a nervous male voice.

"Burton Fielding, Dandridge's assistant isn't it?" Roger muttered while squinting against the glaring light. "You're the only one attached to this project I haven't met. And you're the one who actually _runs_ the machinery. And the one who maintains it. It doesn't take a brain surgeon to figure out who you are."

Burton Fielding let out an audible groan and turned on the overhead lights before shutting off the desk lamp that was facing Roger. Roger found himself facing a lanky mop-haired man who was comparatively younger than the other scientists at the institute. Fielding was thirty at most. Blinking his eyes Roger discovered that he was still in the basement laboratory under the Dreamweb.

"Who are you?" Fielding snarled in agitation. "Do you work for Dandridge? Or did Paradigm send you? Is Dandridge trying to steal the Dream Imager too? How much is he paying you?"

"I think you have this all wrong," Roger smiled as his confidence returned. Despite being tied up _Roger Smith_ was in control of the interview right now. Fielding just didn't know it yet. "I've come here bearing a check for the Institute. Technically I'm paying _him_. What makes you think I'm in Torrance Dandridge's employ?"

"You can't be serious!" Burton Fielding gasped. "_You're_ Roger Smith? I thought you'd be older!"

"I'm older than I look," Roger shrugged. "This is your first time slugging someone from behind isn't it? You wouldn't use a wrench if you want to question someone. A wrench can be deadly. It makes a better murder weapon."

"It can?" asked a horrified Fielding. "But in the movies…"

"That's in the movies," Roger interrupted. "In reality we were both lucky. Since I'm still alive, I'll assume that it isn't you that's causing people from Paradigm City to vanish. You're too much of an amateur to have gone this long undetected."

"People from Paradigm City are vanishing?" Fielding repeated in disbelief. "Since when? I never heard anything! And what makes you call me an amateur?"

"You tied me to this flimsy swivel chair for starters," Roger said as he stood up. "See?" he said as the back of the chair fell on the floor. "The back came right off as I stood up and now I have enough slack to free myself," he added as he wriggled free of the rope. "A professional kidnapper wouldn't make that mistake."

"What… what are you going to do?" asked a nervous Fielding.

"I'm going to promise to shut up if you promise to start talking," Roger said as he bent over and put the chair back together. He threw the rope into the corner of the room and sat on the chair again. "Something fishy is going on around here and you're in the middle of it."

"Something fishy?" Fielding stammered. "What makes you say that?"

"Your hitting me on the back of the head and tying me up for starters," Roger quipped. "Do I really _need_ anything else?"

"Oh! Yeah! About that…" Fielding flustered as he sat on a metal stool.

"_You're_ the one who invented the Dreamweb aren't you?" Roger asked. "Not Dandridge. That's why you're so protective of it isn't it?"

"H-how did you know?" Fielding was incredulous.

"Dandridge has a lot of plaques and awards over that desk in his personal suite but not one of them as anything to do with electronics," Roger announced. "Despite having a number of psychology diplomas all of the books on dreams and dream research are undergraduate works. On top of that, nobody can remember him actually running or maintaining the equipment in here. At first I thought he got a hold of a Memory fragment but now I know who _really_ got technical Memories from forty years ago. _You're_ the genius who invented all the Web aren't you?"

"Yes and Dandridge stole it all!" Fielding hissed venomously. "I came to him a year ago and asked for financing on my project and he betrayed me! He took credit for my invention because he wanted a development grant from Paradigm! I didn't want Paradigm to have anything to with the project! The last thing I want is for those monsters to get a hold of my research!"

"Then why build it?" Roger asked. "It sounds like you think your invention is dangerous. Why continue to help him for that matter?"

"If I wanted to have anything to do with the project I'd have to play along!" Fielding insisted. "Look _something_ made everyone lose their Memories right? And Paradigm just _happened_ to find itself on top? Come on! You know that the Paradigm Corporation almost _has_ to be responsible for the state of the world today! They probably already have similar technology!"

"Probably," Roger shrugged.

"I just wanted a chance to restore everyone's minds back to normal," Fielding insisted. "Come on! You must have seen it! It's not just the old people. Even _our_ generation has something wrong with it. It's like there's something missing from our minds that makes us all incomplete! Everybody is afraid of the dark so nobody goes underground! People in their twenties are getting Memories that they can't explain. Everybody is just a gnat's wing away from insanity. I can't believe it's all normal! Something must be causing it! The Dreamweb could show us what that is, isn't that worth something?"

"Sure," Roger shrugged again. "So what's the problem?"

"What's the problem? What's the problem?" Fielding babbled. "The Dreamweb can _control_ a subject's Dreams as well as _record_ them! Marina has done so several times while charting the reactions of violent patients! Just think of how easy it would be to use it for interrogation or torture!"

"Or brainwashing," Roger nodded. "The Web can _create_ psychoses as well as _treat_ them. Was that what you were going to say?"

"Yeah," Fielding nodded. "I guess so."

"Anything else making you paranoid enough to slug me?" Roger asked.

"Someone has broken into my room but nothing has been taken," Fielding admitted. "I think it's Dandridge, searching for new data on the Web. I hope to God he doesn't know about the Dream Imager! It's my one hope to prove to the world that I created the Web in the first place."

"What does it do?" Roger looked at the strange apparatus.

"It's going to make three dimensional images of subject's Dreams when it's ready," Fielding nodded at his latest invention. "The most realistic holograms right out of the subconscious! It will be proof that it was _I_ who created the Dreamweb and not that egotistical fool, Dandridge!"

"Good luck with that," Roger rubbed the side of his head. "Anything else going on that I should know about?"

"I don't know, there's some kind of power drain," Fielding confessed. "Approximately three percent of the electricity entering the Institute is being channeled elsewhere; I have no idea where."

"Three percent?" Roger chided. "That doesn't sound like very much."

"It is when we generate our own power," Fielding insisted. "With the power plant in Electric City out of commission all our power comes from the generators under the carillon tower. I keep careful track of it, but I don't know where the three percent is going. And on top of that, someone is using the Dreamweb. Secretly."

"What makes you say that?" Roger asked.

"More than once I've found the Dreamweb activated and linked to the Datamaster when I know for a fact that everything was switched off when the building was closed the night before!" Fielding hissed. "I've been involved every time the Web was used on a patient or volunteer! Who could be using it and what could they be using it _for_?"

"I can think of a possibility," Roger nodded grimly. "Mister Fielding, have you noticed that most of the people here don't seem to be getting enough sleep?"

"I haven't noticed," Fielding shrugged bitterly.

"That's hardly surprising," Roger tilted his head. "You've been caught up in ah… your own business. Just for the sake of asking, who set up the electrical system around here?"

"Why I did of course," Fielding proclaimed.

"And you can't trace the power drain?" Roger said as he rose to his feet and stretched. "Makes you wonder doesn't it?"

"Hey wait a minute!" Fielding jumped to his feet as Roger turned to leave. "You can't think that I've been…"

"I don't know, I'm just fishing," Roger shrugged as he turned back to face Burton Fielding. "I'm just saying that it's strange that the man who designed the electrical system can't trace the power drain. And he's found the Dreamweb hooked up to the Datamaster. Oh well, it's not like he could get brainwashed by his own invention could it? See you around Mister Fielding. Your secret's safe with me."

* * *

><p>Later, Roger and Dorothy enjoyed a short hike through the forest. "Ah, smell that natural mountain air!" he inhaled and flexed his arms melodramatically. "Can't get anything like that back home!"<p>

"_You_ seem to be in good spirits," Dorothy observed.

"Believe me, Dorothy, I'm crying on the inside," Roger sighed. "The more I learn about the Dreamweb project, the less I trust anyone to use it on me."

"That's too bad, what did you find out?" Dorothy asked.

"I talked to Burton Fielding, Dandridge's assistant," Roger shrugged as they walked down the forest trail. "He claims that it was _he_ who invented the Web and not Dandridge. And I think I believe him."

"What makes you say that?" Dorothy asked.

"Lots of things," Roger smiled as he enjoyed the crunching sound as they stepped on dried and brittle autumn leaves. "For starters Dandridge doesn't have a background in computers or electronics. For seconders nobody remembers him actually running the machine."

"He could have some Memory-fragment," Dorothy pointed out, "and be too busy as an administrator to actually run the machine himself."

"Not only that but his story doesn't add up," Roger continued. "Dandridge said that it was examining the remains of androids that inspired him to create the Dreamweb, yet he seemed very uncomfortable when he met _you_ Dorothy."

"Perhaps he's not used to androids that are still active," the girl offered. "There aren't that many high-order androids left and in any case I'm probably the most lifelike one in existence."

"He should be incredibly interested in you," Roger shook his head. "He's a scientist isn't he? He should be all over you, but instead he's been avoiding you and spending more time with me. No, I think that the android story was Fielding's and Dandridge was just quoting him word for word. When we get back to the lodge remind me to call Dastun to check his story. Maybe I can still catch him." He glanced at the setting sun. "Well, it looks like it's getting late. We don't want to miss dinner. We better head back to the lodge," he said as he turned around.

* * *

><p>"I'd like to talk to Colonel Dastun of the Military Police," Roger said into the telephone. "Tell him it's Roger Smith." With no electricity Electric City had no phone service. The Institute was connected to the outside world by a phone line that went all the way back to Paradigm City. Even though it was getting late, there was still an off chance that Colonel Dastun was still in his office. He often worked late and it wasn't like he had much of a life outside of his job.<p>

"Dastun," the temporary head of Paradigm City's defense and law enforcement arm grunted into the phone. "What can I do for you, Roger?"

"I just called to find out how Nora Pope's lab tests went," Roger leaned against the desk in the lab building's reception room. Even though the lab building was closed for the night, Roger's lockpick got him inside without setting off the burglar alarm. "But I got something new to ask you, too. Did Torrance Dandridge or Burton Fielding work on the 'Android Crusher' case?"

"What?" On the other side of the line, Colonel Dastun blinked in surprise.

"Not for the police, as part of a think tank trying to restore the murdered androids to life," Roger explained. "I just wondered if there was such a project and if either one was in on it."

"I'll have to get back to you on that one, Roger," Dastun informed him. "I'll make some calls tomorrow."

"Okay what about Nora Pope's test results?" Roger asked. "They must have come back by now."

At his desk back in Paradigm City, the bald and muttonchopped Colonel Dan Dastun squinted at a file in his hand. "Her tests came back negative, just as her family said it would," he grunted. "The only thing in her system was adrenaline and the tranquilizers that the docs at the Institute gave to calm her down. There wasn't a trace of any of the drugs the Electric City constable found in her room."

"So she wasn't taking anything," Roger nodded. "It wasn't a drug overdose that made her lose her mind. Has a doctor been able to examine her yet?"

"The docs think that she's the victim of an intense trauma," Dastun fiddled with his mustache. "Their words not mine. If the constable in Electric City did his job, that means that something scared her silly, something horrible happened to her that night that either nobody knows about or someone is covering up."

"I'm guessing the second one," Roger said grimly. "The drugs planted in her room looks like a cover up. Unless you think she was stealing them to sell later?"

"Nobody mentioned any drugs being missing except for the ones found in her room," Dastun replied. "That means that if she was stealing them, that was her first time. Still doesn't explain why she lost her mind at a psychiatric facility."

"What sort of 'intense trauma' could make a young girl lose her mind?" Roger mused out loud. "Was Nora Pope checked out with a rape kit?"

"As a matter of fact—" Dastun was cut off by a squeal of static.

"Dastun?" Roger frowned. "Are you still on the line?"

"I'm here," Dastun's voice replied. "I've just got an update on Miss Pope's file. Turns out it was a drug overdose after all. The docs found her system full of the stuff. She must have been a habitual user."

"That's quite an about face," Roger said in skeptical surprise. "Didn't you just say there was nothing in her system?"

"I was reading the wrong file," Dastun's voice responded. "_These_ are the results of Nora Pope's tests."

"You're sure?" Roger's eyebrows arched in suspicion.

"Positive, why?" the colonel's voice asked him.

"Are you getting… pressure from anyone, Dan?" Roger asked carefully.

"If I was, do you think I'd tell you over the phone?" Dastun's voice retorted dryly. "Don't worry about me, Roger. You try to relax."

Try to relax? Where did that come from? "I better get off the line, Dan. Say hi to your wife for me."

"Will do," the colonel's voice replied before the line went dead.

Roger scratched his head in confusion and a little concern as well. Dastun didn't _have_ a wife, and hadn't bothered to correct him. The conflicting test results were jarring also. It was as if the dial on a radio switched to a different channel. Was Dastun getting pressure from above? Roger assumed that the Paradigm Corporation lost interest in the project once Big Fau came online, but it was possible that the corporation's new chairman, Lester Young, thought he could use it to solidify his power. If so, things could get very complicated…

* * *

><p>On a desk filled with hourglasses a phone rings. Roger's hand picks up the receiver and a sinister voice says:<p>

_Next: _Girl of My Dreams__


	6. Girl of My Dreams

_The Big O__ and all of its settings and characters are owned by Cartoon Network, Sunrise, and Bandai Visual. Additional plot, settings and characters are © by Chaosium._

THE BIG O:

ACT 31

DREAMS DARK AND DEADLY

_Chapter Six: _Girl of My Dreams__

Roger snuck out of the lab building and walked across the circle back to the lodge.

"Roger, it's almost time for dinner," Dorothy informed him as she met him on the porch. "The chef will be serving spaghetti tonight."

"Will you be joining us this time?" Roger asked. "To be honest, it would be nice if you made an excuse so you could search their rooms. Problem is: I don't see a way out of dinner without being obvious."

"I take it your conversation with Colonel Dastun did nothing to relieve your suspicions," Dorothy observed.

"You _could_ say that," Roger sighed. "By the way which room is mine? You told me that Schienfeld said that more people were coming and going in the middle of the night than in the daytime. After dinner I'm going to take a nap so can keep an eye on the Institute's night life." To be honest, he was still a little woozy from being hit on the head, but he didn't want to worry Dorothy.

"It's the door at the end of the hall on the west wing," Dorothy replied. "Third floor. The bath is right across the hall."

* * *

><p>At dinner, Roger and Dorothy were seated at a long table with Dandridge, Winthrop, Ivanovna, Fielding and Weemes. The appetizer was a calamari served by the young and attractive housekeeper.<p>

"And what is _your_ name, my dear?" Roger asked as she set his dish in front of him.

"Ellen Cody, Mr. Smith," the leggy blonde blushed.

"Ahem," Marina Ivanovna cleared her throat. Roger glanced across the table to see stern looks on the faces of both Doctor Ivanovna and R Dorothy Wayneright.

"Just ah… curious," he pulled at his collar in mock guilt.

Ellen Cody just smiled and continued serving.

"So how do you like the institute so far?" a short forty-ish man with coke bottle glasses asked Dorothy Wayneright. "I don't believe we've met."

"You must be Carl Weemes," Dorothy said.

"That's right," Weemes smiled. "And you must be Dorothy Wayneright. I've heard so much about you! It is indeed an honor my dear. I've heard that you're an android. That must be exciting!"

"How so?" Dorothy asked. "What makes being an android exciting?"

Weemes faltered. "Er uh, I mean… it must fascinating to see the world from such an interesting perspective."

"And what perspective is that?" Dorothy asked.

"Don't let her bother you," Roger laughed, coming to Doctor Weemes' rescue. "She's always like that. That just means she likes you. Now you know why we came here. Sooner or later either she or I am going to need psychiatric help."

The blank yet stern look on Dorothy's face made Weemes dubious but he smiled and nodded anyway.

"You're an android?" Fielding piped up. "But you look so lifelike!"

Roger smiled knowingly. Fielding had completely ignored her before but now he was showing interest. It looked like Fielding _was_ the inventor of the Web after all.

"Who was your creator?" Fielding babbled. "Wolfgang Amadeus or Timothy Wayneright? Dorothy Wayneright! Of course! You're Timothy Wayneright's creation aren't you? I attended his lectures five years ago!"

"Timothy Wayneright was my father, yes," Dorothy acknowledged.

"Looks like we finally found the right girl for young Fielding here," Dandridge joked. "I should have guessed that only an android would be the girl for him."

Fielding turned bright red and made a choking noise.

"Mister Fielding, I don't believe we've met," Roger stood up and extended his hand. "I'm Roger Smith," he said smugly.

"Uh… Burton Fielding," the young scientist said weakly as he shook Roger's hand.

"Can you assure me that the Web is safe?" he asked with exaggerated innocence. "You see I've been getting these headaches lately…"

"Yes Mister Smith, I assure you that going into the lab building will be perfectly safe!" Fielding blurted out. "We've all undergone multiple sessions under the Web," he added in an attempt to cover.

"You have?" Roger stopped being smug and showed genuine surprise. "All of you?"

"Of course," Dandridge said arrogantly. "How else would we know that it works? We've all had our Dreams recorded. I assure you the process is perfectly safe."

"No matter how often you want your Dreams recorded, we only allow one session every three days," Ivanovna assured him. "We've noticed a slight weakening effect, but it's nothing a night or two of normal sleep can't fix."

"Don't say that, Marina you'll scare him off," Weemes scolded.

"I'm just assuring him that we've taken every safety precaution," Ivanovna insisted. "We may be researchers but we're not careless ones."

"Have _you_ had _your_ Dreams recorded Mister Winthrop?" Roger asked when he noticed that the Institute's patron refused to enter the discussion.

"I'm just wondering what an android's Dreams would be like," the flamboyant older man mused as he looked at Dorothy. "Forgive me my dear, but an old man gets curious. It really is none of my business."

"Yes, what would an android's Dreams be like?" Weemes asked eagerly. "Would they be easier or harder to translate into pictures?"

"It should be easier, once we find out what she uses for an ISA," Fielding offered.

"Yes, I should think so," Dandridge nodded. "If Miss Wayneright is willing, run some scans, Burton."

"Yes sir," Fielding flinched before he glanced at Roger.

"Excuse me," Dorothy got up from the table.

"Dorothy?" Roger asked with concern. "Is something wrong?"

"I'm not hungry," she said as she left the dining room.

"Oh dear," Lawrence Winthrop sighed. "Now I'm sorry I even mentioned it."

Roger sucked in a breath. He _said_ that he wanted an excuse for her to leave the table so she could search their hosts' rooms and she found one. At least he hoped she found one. There was always the possibility that being singled out like that made her uncomfortable.

* * *

><p>After sharing an evening meal with his studious and scientific hosts, Roger made his way to his room. If he recalled correctly, Dorothy said it was the one at the end of the hall on the third floor west wing. He must have been mistaken, for when he opened the door he saw Dorothy posing in front of a full length mirror while draping a crimson full length evening gown in front of her body. That wouldn't have been unusual except that the android girl was completely naked.<p>

The setting sun came in the windows and silhouetted her perfectly. The curtains weren't drawn and there was still a lot of light in the room. The diffuse light gave the girl's slender body a darker, more natural shade than her normal chalk white. She was at a three quarters angle to him, giving Roger an intoxicating view of the arch of her back and her feminine curves.

With an electronic whirr she turned her head to look at him, her face as unreadable as a cat. She pivoted to face the stunned investigator, leaning backward slightly to allow the gown she held before her to drape over and conceal her body. "Yes, Roger? Is there something I can do for you?"

"Duh! Duh! DOR-Thee!" Roger sputtered. "What are you _DOING_ in my _ROOM_?"

"You must be mistaken," She said evenly. "This is _my_ room. Yours is next door."

"Next door?" he gasped. "Are you sure?"

"Quite sure," she assured him. Even with the gown draped over her body her bare shoulders and one dainty foot were still visible. Even covered, seeing her lean back like that while aware of her state of undress was… provocative.

"But you said—"

"Your room is next door," the android girl insisted. "I thought you were going to take a nap after diner. Unless you'd rather sleep with _me_?"

"Ah! Uh, no," he took a deep breath and tried to stop blushing. "I'll uh, be just fine next door," he said as he closed the door. "Excuse me…"

What the hell just happened? Why was Dorothy completely naked like that? Didn't she say that was his room? 'The door at the end of the hall,' he could just hear her saying those words, yet here he was opening the door _next to_ the one at the end of the hall. He checked the closet to find his suitcases stacked on the floor and his jackets hung up. He opened the drawers to find more of his clothes. Okay, this time he really _was_ in his room. So what happened?

With the recent memory of Dorothy's bare backside, was difficult to think clearly. His mind kept replaying her slender, graceful body turning to face him, her gown tantalizingly blocking his view while still titillating his imagination. What was wrong with him? It wasn't the first time he walked in on a beautiful woman in a state of undress, just the first time he was so ashamed of the reaction it had on him. Instead of flirting or apologizing he acted like a guilty child.

Was he overreacting? Was she simply playing a joke on him? Or was it all perfectly innocent and Mister Obsessive Compulsive Roger Smith just couldn't take anything different happening? Was a change in the Status Quo really so terrible?

Had he misheard her? Did she really say the door _by_ the one at the end of the hall and he just simplified it into a confabulation? Or did she mislead him on purpose? She had once said that lying wasn't okay, not for her, but later she said that it wasn't okay for her to lie to _Norman_. Did that mean it was okay to lie to Roger Smith? And what motivation could she have for lying? They were in the middle of an investigation here! This was not the time for adolescent games! Why would…?

Wait. Adolescent. He spent too much time thinking of her as either an android or a mature woman. What if she was an adolescent with a girlish crush? Was she trying to get his attention? 'Unless you'd rather sleep with _me_?' Did she have _any_ idea what that question implied? How could she? She wasn't human! She shouldn't have an understanding of biology, let alone biological drives, could she?

After he removed his tie, his blazer and kicked off his shoes, Roger lay down on the bed and stared at the ceiling. Okay, calm down, he told himself. Let's just say she did this on purpose. Why would she do this? Why now? If they were safely at home it might make a little more sense, but out here it was ludicrous! Was she trying to discourage him from using the Dreamweb by making sure he was too embarrassed to let someone record his dreams or something?

His dreams. That was the answer. What if… What if she was an insecure girl whose father was murdered and left all alone in the world? What if a wealthy, handsome, charming young bachelor took her in and behaved like a perfect gentleman instead of taking advantage of her when she was vulnerable? What if the shock of losing her father made it difficult for her to make friends because she acted shell-shocked, and she really didn't know very many people aside of her wealthy benefactor and his elderly butler?

If she was human, it's easily possible that she could get a girlish crush, perhaps even an obsession for her benefactor. It's not like there are a lot of other people in her life. She might not see him as a parental figure at all. Perhaps while she cleaned his house, she imagined herself as a wife instead, even though it was just a fantasy. A fantasy she would take steps to defend.

Now what if that girl discovered that her benefactor was going to use a machine that could record his dreams so he could discover exactly what was going on in his subconscious? That girl would be looking forward to glimpse into his dreams, but be apprehensive at the same time. If he dreamed about her it would be possible to become a bigger part of his life, but what if he dreamed about some other woman?

Roger had known a lot of women in the past. One of them or a composite of several of them could easily figure big in one of his dreams. Now how would he react if he saw the image of that dream-woman? What would his most likely response be?

Considering the financial investment and the risk he was taking letting strangers fool around with his head, he would probably attach more significance to that image than it deserved. He could possibly become obsessed with that image and spend the rest of his life looking for the woman in his dream whether she truly existed or not. He might believe that she was the key to unlocking his past or that she was his true love or some nonsense.

If he was a girl in Dorothy's position, could he take that risk?

No. If Dorothy was an insecure teenage girl with a crush on him, she might decide to stack the deck in her favor. What better way for an image of Dorothy Wayneright to appear in his dreams than to have the real one expose herself just before he went to sleep? If she was lucky, after a while she would appear in his dreams whether she continued flashing him or not.

Roger started snickering. Soon he was laughing out loud like a maniac as tears blurred his vision. As quickly as the laughing fit came on, it ceased. He sat up and clutched his head in horror. This was nothing to laugh about.

Dorothy wasn't an unfeeling machine or a pet, she was an insecure teenage girl who had to endure being trapped in a robot body her entire life! All teenagers feel 'different' at one point or another but Dorothy was going to be that way as long as she lived wasn't she?

In addition, she had seen her father murdered in front of her eyes. Murdered because she frightened the man who was holding a gun on him. Talk about survivor's guilt! Not only that but her brain seemed to send out radio signals to every insane megadeus buried within a hundred mile radius and worse yet, could receive signals from them too! That's not counting the physical and mental violation that Beck subjected her to when she was remote-controlled, used as the power regulator for a giant robot, had part of her brain taken out and placed in an insane megadeus or had her memory swapped with that of a homicidal maniac was it?

The poor girl must really be messed up, and reaching out to one of the only people who ever stuck his neck out for her, Roger Smith. No matter how heartless and neglectful Roger could be, he was still the best thing to happen in her tragic life wasn't he?

Poor Dorothy! She was totally dependent on him wasn't she? She lived in his house, ran on fuel bought with his money, lubricated her mechanisms with oil he bought and dressed in clothing he provided. In addition, ancient megadeuses and dangerous scoundrels like Jason Beck, Alex Rosewater, and Alan Gabriel were after her because of her Memories weren't they? And Roger was her only line of defense, her white knight as it were. She literally couldn't live without Roger.

In a way, Dorothy was his prisoner, since her continued existence depended entirely on him! Was it really affection she felt or was it closer to a hostage mentality? Did she really feel love or was she so frightened out of her mind that she clung to him like a vine?

Was Roger mentally abusing her with his little jabs and domineering personality? Was Dorothy emotionally dependent on him, leaving herself open for potential abuse? Did she know what romantic love was and would Roger be a monster if he attempted a romantic relationship with her?

When he thought of the physical and emotional trauma that Jason Beck had put her through, he didn't want to risk becoming another abuser in her life. The thought sickened him. She had been through enough. He wanted to help her, reverse some of the damage that Beck had done, not make it worse. And then Dorothy has to take her clothes off in front of him…

Suddenly Roger felt very dirty. He wanted to take a shower, but he couldn't be sure that Dorothy wouldn't walk in on him. She was acting so strangely, who knew what she would do?

He was going to have to talk to her. Find out what was really going on in that metal and polycarbide skull of hers. But would she be honest with him? Would exposing her games take away what little dignity the girl had left? He was going to have to be careful.

He got up from the bed and walked out of his room to knock on Dorothy's door. "Are you decent?" he called. "If not I can come back later."

"I'm decent," she said as she opened the door. Roger had heard that redheads should never wear red but Dorothy managed to pull it off. She was wearing the red evening gown she was modeling earlier. It draped over her naked shoulders and exposed her bare arms while being held up only by a pair of spaghetti straps. "What do you want Roger?" Only Dorothy could make that question sound mysterious rather than sarcastic or rude. "Is there something I can do for you? Is there _anything_… I can do for you?"

The suggestion in her tone couldn't be ignored. Roger found his arms around the girl's waist and it didn't bother him at all. He didn't feel the slightest bit guilty like he imagined, but he did feel incredibly aroused. Dorothy's lips parted slightly as Roger pulled her close and her arms went up around his neck. Her head tilted slightly as Roger bent over to seize her mouth with his kiss.

* * *

><p>On a desk filled with hourglasses a phone rings. Roger's hand picks up the receiver and a sinister voice says:<p>

_Next: What a Body_


	7. What a Body

_The Big O__ and all of its settings and characters are owned by Cartoon Network, Sunrise, and Bandai Visual. Additional plot, settings and characters are © by Chaosium._

THE BIG O:

ACT 31

DREAMS DARK AND DEADLY

_Chapter Seven: What a Body_

Roger woke up with a loud snort and looked around in confusion. He was in a strange room. Out of the room's frost covered windows was a heavily shadowed hilly forest. He was alone, and he was lying on a bed nearly fully clothed. According to his watch it was almost seven AM. Where was he? And had he and Dorothy really kissed? Did they stop there? How far did they…?

His head throbbed and he started laughing. He was in his third floor room in the Dinosaur Lodge at the Winthrop Institute for Dream Research. He had fallen asleep while trying to figure out his relationship with Dorothy. And he had an erotic dream about her! Despite the pain from being hit on the head yesterday, he laughed even louder. Dorothy had succeeded. He dreamed about her and in _that_ way no less. The score so far, Dorothy: one, Roger: zero.

No matter how unsettling an erotic dream about Dorothy was, it was better than dreams about books burning, bald children staring into flames and megadeuses destroying cities. What did Schwatzwald say about his visions of Big O, Big Duo, and Big Fau destroying mankind and his creations? _They are not megadeuses_. Did that mean that his subconscious was hiding something else? What really destroyed the world forty years ago, and how could someone as young as he remember?

He shook his head and walked across the hall to the bathroom. As he washed out his eyes, straightened his clothing and combed his hair he realized that he was going to have to see Dorothy, but not as much of Dorothy as he did last night. He knocked on her door but there was no answer. "Dorothy?" he called. Nothing. "Dorothy are you in there? I'm coming in. If you don't want me to enter you better latch your door!" he announced before he counted to ten. Okay, here goes, he thought. He opened the door and found it empty. Apparently she had better things to do than wait around for him.

He explored the third floor and found Dorothy listening to a door at the end of the hall on the east wing of the mansion. She was in the reddish black dress with the white cuffs, collar and jabot that she usually wore. Sheepishly, Roger was relieved.

"Dorothy?" he murmured softly as he crept up behind her. He had no idea why he was being quiet but the android's pose seemed furtive.

Dorothy put her finger to her lips and gestured for Roger to put his ear against the door. "Listen," she whispered.

Roger did so and heard a guitar being strummed a sad male voice singing:

"_Eyes of glass, Arms of steel, Everything you think turns real."_

Roger took a breath and darted away from the door. After the dream he had about Dorothy, that verse hit too close to home for comfort. "Who is that?" he asked her.

"Johnny Booger, the greatest song-writer and rhythm guitarist in Paradigm City if his agent is correct," Dorothy replied. "Not only is he Joe Schienfeld's client but he is also the only remaining patient left in the institution."

"So _he's_ the last patient," Roger nodded. "Did you search any of the rooms after you left dinner early?"

"Lawrence Winthrop has a safe hidden behind a particularly hideous painting," the girl replied. "I also found a scrapbook filled with newspaper clippings, possibly from before the event. Roger, why are you looking at me like that?"

With her short hair in a red pageboy haircut, Roger could admire the girl's slender and elegant neck. The shape of her throat was really a work of art and he recalled his dream where she tilted her head in order to kiss him. She was really… Uh… That's right. They were in the middle of an investigation to find out if Roger really wanted to expose his Dreams to a mental facility where one of the hired help went crazy. Right. Back to business.

"No reason," he smiled playfully. "Before you continue, let's go for a walk. The walls might have ears. Don't want to be listened in on." They crept down the stairs and walked outside. "You were telling me about Lawrence Winthrop's room?" he asked as his breath became visible in the brisk morning air.

"As I said, he had a scrapbook filled with newspaper clippings," Dorothy continued as they went down the walk. "The most arresting was a story about a Douglas Winthrop who discovered a black magic cult at a place called the 'Gilman Lodge.'"

"'_Douglas_ Winthrop'?" Roger repeated as they cut across the road to head to a trail. "Not Lawrence?"

"Yes," Dorothy should have nodded, but she was still stingy when it came to body language. Roger was secretly thankful. After that weird dream he had he didn't trust himself if she acted _too_ lifelike. Dorothy seemed oblivious to his inner conflict for she continued her report like a good little trooper. "When I first met him, Lawrence Winthrop told me his father's name was Douglas. This would seem to be an account of one of his father's adventures."

"'Adventures'?" Roger cocked a windshield wiper shaped eyebrow at that remark, for it seemed that Dorothy was comparing the old man's father to the protagonist in an adventure serial, or to Roger Smith. "What makes you say that?"

"In the newspaper clip Douglas Winthrop stated that he found 'a sacrificial altar at Gilman Lodge with all the trappings of black magic'," the girl replied as they reached the trees. "The authorities found evidence that the Gilmans were responsible for the robbery and murders of at least two vagrants. The clipping used the words 'pagan occultism' and 'ungodly rites.' It also mentioned that the sheriff's office refused to confirm tales of 'ritual cannibalism'."

"Wow," Roger hugged himself to fend off the early morning chill. Once out of the sun and in the shade of the forest he felt the temperature drop to seemingly artic levels. "That's pretty twisted. Anything else?"

"During a struggle between Douglas Winthrop and an Abner Gilman the lodge caught fire and burned down, killing the entire Gilman family," Dorothy continued her dainty stride, not taking the slightest notice to the chill in the air. "Douglas Winthrop suffered severe burns but survived. Do you think that Dinosaur Lodge was built over the ruins of the Gilman Lodge Roger?"

"That's a fair assumption," Roger glanced at her to see if her breath was visible too. "The thing is, did those things really happen here and do they have any bearing what's happening now? It's pretty hard to ask Lawrence Winthrop. Those things happened before the big amnesia hit and besides, he might ask us to leave if he discovers we've been poking around in his room. He _is_ the one who owns the property after all." He stopped walking and glanced back in the direction of the Institute in an attempt to gauge if they went far enough to avoid being spied on.

She tilted her head to one side in an attempt at natural body language. "What are you going to do?" Was that concern in the girl's voice? Hard to tell with Dorothy.

"I'm going to arrange a session with the Dreamweb tonight," Roger decided. "If I put it off anymore, I'll get cold feet and never get around to it."

"Roger you said that you brought me along so I could assess your behavior," Dorothy reminded him. "I don't understand why you wish to undergo a session tonight. Didn't you say that you wanted to keep an eye on who comes and goes around here?"

"We're poking into everybody's secrets but we haven't found anything definite," Roger rubbed the back of his neck with a black gloved hand. "So far all I got is my paranoia. Everybody has dirty secrets. That doesn't mean I can't trust them as long as I got you looking over their shoulders, right Dorothy?"

"Something drove Nora Pope insane and they have a machine capable of doing that," Dorothy protested. "Are you sure you want to give them access to your subconscious? It seems likely that Nora Pope was driven insane on purpose in order to hide something she found out."

"Maybe," Roger shrugged. He was still on the fence. Even though there was no proof that Dandridge hadn't invented the Dreamweb, it was still possible that Dandridge might want to arrange an 'accident' to keep his secret. "The thing is, I have a feeling that someone did something like this to me in the past and I'd like proof that it happened one way or the other."

"You act like having someone fool around with your subconscious is a bad thing Roger." Was Dorothy being sarcastic? Her voice sounded sincere, but then she always spoke with a bit of a monotone.

"Isn't it?" he shrugged.

"If it is, why do you want it done to you again?" Dorothy asked. "That doesn't make any sense."

"This time I'll be in on it," Roger assured her. "You can keep an eye on them and make sure they don't try any funny business. If I act differently after a session in the Dreamweb, you can tell me. In the past somebody did something to me that I didn't know about. This time I've got you to stay on top of it the entire time. Unless you care to volunteer for a session?"

"No thank you," she said flatly. "I've had my mind overridden quite enough."

"The Dreamweb can't override a person's mind Dorothy," Roger scolded.

"Can't it?" the girl asked stubbornly. "How do you know?"

"Well if it can, they would have to be pretty subtle about it," Roger insisted weakly. "Let's go back to the lodge and find out when they're serving breakfast. I'm having a tough time thinking straight, I'll be better after a hot meal."

"You go, I'm not hungry," Dorothy said as she looked away.

"You're never hungry," Roger pointed out.

"Yes," she said as she continued to look at the forest.

"Dorothy… you shouldn't get upset about dinner last night," Roger said hesitantly. "They're scientists. It doesn't matter whether you're a human or an android. They're going to analyze you and treat you like a specimen. It's just the way they are. They don't mean anything by it."

"That isn't it," Dorothy said without turning to face him. "I'm going for a walk. I'll see you after breakfast." With that, the synthetic girl walked down the trail further into the forest.

Roger let out a huge sigh as the girlish android left him alone. He put his hands in his pockets, bowed his head and traced a pattern in the dirt with his shoe. Last night he had walked in on her again, and he didn't say anything. He didn't even apologize. Yes he had a rule for apologies, but Dorothy was an exception. Dorothy was in a conservative black dress again. It wasn't even the dark red dress she attempted to pass for black back home. She wasn't even daring that act of rebellion. Did that mean that she was ashamed about last night? Whether he walked in on her on accident or she flashed him on purpose, he wouldn't blame her for being embarrassed. As he turned and walked back to the lodge he wished there was a way he could get some definitive information on Dorothy psychological state so he could help her instead of making things worse. But Dorothy didn't trust the doctors and she was as easy to read as a book written in a foreign language in the middle of a blackout.

* * *

><p>Dorothy walked through the forest alone, undeterred by the morning chill. Roger had told her once that animals were rare and valuable, but she heard a raucous croaking of crows that let her know that life still existed outside of the rural domes back in Paradigm City. She followed the noise until she found a large number of the large black birds congregating on the shoreline of the lake separating the Institute from Electric City.<p>

The birds seemed to be pecking and squabbling noisily at something protruding from the sand. Dorothy approached, but the birds remained where they were, refusing to abandoned their meal until the last second. With a thunderous rush, they all flew up at once, obscuring the girl's vision and drowning out all other sounds with their croaking protests.

When the birds flew away the girl could see what they had been feasting on. It was then obvious why a group of crows was referred to as a 'murder'.

* * *

><p>Roger was finishing breakfast while making small talk with his quirky hosts. All technical questions about the Dreamweb Dandridge had Fielding answer, confirming Roger's suspicions about which one was lying. Questions about the lodge's past was met with shrugs from Winthrop, who claimed that he knew nothing about the property's history prior to forty years ago but that he did manage to find some books published before the Amnesia hit, and would Roger like to see them? Ivanovna was friendly but distant and Weemes offered to show Roger some of the trails he had found during his time here.<p>

The young investigator's attention was diverted to the sight of Dorothy Wayneright standing outside the window of the dining room. Although the ground floor was elevated, Dorothy was far enough away from the building to allow herself to be plainly visible from inside the building. She was watching the dining room windows like a guard at her post while standing as still as a statue. Roger excused himself and went outside to see her.

"Are you okay?" He asked was he approached her. "Look I know that I haven't said anything about last night…"

"It's not _my_ body I want you to see Roger," Dorothy interrupted him. "There's one down the trail near the shore of the lake that might interest you though."

* * *

><p>The corpse lie face down, half buried in the soil exposed from the waist up. It was rotting and partially eaten by the crows. Whoever buried it, put it too close to the edge of the lake and didn't dig the grave deep enough. Roger wore white latex gloves that he had got from his car and held a handkerchief over his nose and mouth. Dorothy obviously didn't have a sense of smell as humans know it, for she didn't gag, flinch or cover her nose. She did, however, stand at least ten feet away from the body and wait for instructions.<p>

* * *

><p>"I've got some bad news," Roger announced when he entered Dandrige's Dinosaur Lodge office in the west wing of the first floor.<p>

"Oh no," Torrance Dandrige tutted as he closed a folder on his desk. "Called back to Paradigm City on business?"

"No, but I _did_ find a dead body," Roger said in sarcastic nonchalance. "Is there any way to contact the Electric City constable, or is somebody going to have to drive into town?"

"There's no phone line into…" Dandridge's voice trailed away as he leaned forward to scrutinize Roger's face. "Did you say that you found a body?"

"Yes," Roger nodded.

"A _human_ body?" Dandridge asked.

"Yep."

"A _dead_ body?" Dandridge seemed to be having a hard time accepting it. "A _human_ dead body? A dead _person_ you mean? Someone has actually _died_?"

"That's right," Roger put his hands into his pockets and leaned against the wall. "While taking a walk I found a dead body. Don't know whether it's a local or a refugee from Paradigm City, but whatever passes for the law around here should be notified. Say, isn't Doctor Weemes a medical doctor? He could do an autopsy."

"An autopsy?" Dandridge frowned. "What for?"

"To determine the cause of death of course," Roger smiled at Dandridge's distress. "If somebody is murdering people and dumping their bodies in the woods I think that it's in everyone's best interests to find out, don't you agree?"

"I'll… I'll send Rita Maeter to town to fetch the constable," Dandridge stammered. "She's from Electric City and knows everyone there."

"All right, in the meantime Dorothy is keeping an eye on the body," Roger nodded. "In the meantime, I think I'll go inform your colleagues."

"Is that necessary?" Dandridge moaned.

"I don't know, is it?" Roger shrugged. "When the constable gets here, he's going to have a bunch of questions for all of us anyway. Might as well let everybody know so they can get their stories straight."

"Yes," Dandridge nodded weakly. "I guess so… You said that Miss Wayneright was watching the body?"

"Yes that's right," Roger nodded. "Don't worry; she's not going to catch cold."

"I mean leaving her all alone out there," Dandridge clarified. "Is it safe leaving her out there by herself like that?"

Roger's smug smile vanished as a gasp escaped his throat.

* * *

><p>Meanwhile back by the lake Dorothy watched impassively as the birds went back to their grisly meal. She threw another rock at them to scare them away. Roger had said things like 'coroner', and 'determine the cause of death', and asked her to 'prevent anything from disturbing the corpse' so she assumed that he wanted the body as intact as possible, and not eaten by a flock of hungry birds.<p>

The stone caused the murder of ravenous birds to rise into the sky in a raucous black cloud. So loud and piercing where the crow's protests that Dorothy didn't notice a masked figure creep out of the woods and sneak up behind her. A rough hand grasped her bangs as something metal was placed at the girl's neck…

* * *

><p>On a desk filled with hourglasses a phone rings. Roger's hand picks up the receiver and a sinister voice says:<p>

_Next: Off the Road_


	8. Off the Road

_The Big O__ and all of its settings and characters are owned by Cartoon Network, Sunrise, and Bandai Visual. Additional plot, settings and characters are © by Chaosium._

THE BIG O:

ACT 31

DREAMS DARK AND DEADLY

_Chapter Eight: Off the Road_

"Don't move," a harsh whisper hissed in her ear. Dorothy complied, mindful of the metal object at her throat. Was it a knife? A taser? Some other weapon or tool? Suddenly a damp cloth was pressed over her nose and mouth. "Breathe deep," the voice in her ear growled.

Her hand seized her assailant's wrist and the man cried out in surprise. She pulled him over her shoulder and he tumbled onto the damp shore. A box cutter fell out of his hand as he landed on his back. He was dressed in lower class clothing, trousers, shoes, shirt and jacket. His felt cap had fallen off his head, exposing a ski mask.

Dorothy kicked the box cutter away as the man rolled to his feet. He was a squat fireplug of a man and when he crouched he wasn't much taller than Dorothy. He pulled a small device out of his pocket and pressed a button. A strange high pitched sound assailed Dorothy's ears as she stared at the masked man.

"_Ph-nglui mglw'hoi bu wgah'nagl fhtagn," _the squat ski masked man croaked as he gestured like a stage magician. The words were strange as if they were never meant to be pronounced by humans. "That's it," he whispered tersely, "Relax girl, relax… clear your head and let your only thoughts be my will…" Dorothy stood up straight and looked at him blankly. The masked man chuckled to himself as he slipped the little gadget into his jacket pocket. "That's right my lovely, you're in my power now. Help me with the body here. We must move it to where it can't be seen." He bent over the corpse and seized a leg but Dorothy reached in his pocket and extracted the tiny device. "What are you doing?" He snarled, fear in his voice. "Give it back to me! Ugh!"

Without a word, Dorothy pushed him backwards and examined the tiny machine. It bore a striking resemblance to the remote control Roger used to activate the armor when he parked the car. It was just a flat plastic box with a button on it. "What is this?" she asked. "What is its function?"

"Give it back to me!" the squat ski masked man whined. "You're in my power! Give it back to me or I'll break your neck—agh!" He made another lunge at her, but the girl effortlessly pushed him away. This time he fell over backwards and rolled once before finding himself lying on his back. He staggered to his feet and backed away. "An android!" he cried. "It's the only way you could be so strong!"

"Yes," she acknowledged without nodding or using any body language. She drew her attention away from the sonic device and surveyed him coolly. "Is this supposed to override my control functions? I can assure you, you're using the wrong hardware."

"Get away from me!" he said as he staggered backwards and fumbled with his oversized wristwatch. "Androids can't harm humans!"

"Why do you say that?" Dorothy asked him.

Her attention was seized by the sound of tires screeching followed by the sound of glass breaking and a metal impact in the distance. She jerked her head in the direction of the sound and took her eyes off her attacker.

The masked man spoke into his watch. "_Chorazin!_ _Rgahq mauq hy'gm_!" he cried.

A high pitched sound beyond the range of human hearing filled the area, but it was a different frequency and didn't come from the device in Dorothy's hand. It seemed to originate from empty space not ten feet to her left. A shaggy wrinkled vaguely humanoid form faded into view from ghostly nothingness. Its rugose, dead-eyed rudiment of a head swayed drunkenly from side to side. Its forepaws were extended, with talons spread wide and its whole body was taught with murderous malignity despite its utter lack of facial description. It lurched towards her, its wide and squishy foot pressing into the soft turf…

* * *

><p>"Doctor Weemes," Roger addressed the bespectacled therapist in his office in the lab building. "If I'm reading the degrees on your wall correctly you're a medical doctor as well as a psychiatrist, aren't you?"<p>

"Why yes, I am," Weemes assured him. "Why do you ask? Are you feeling well, Mister Smith?"

"I'm fine," Roger assured him, "but there's someone in the woods I think you should see. Can you do an autopsy…?"

"An autopsy?" Weemes asked incredulously. "Why? Has somebody died?"

The sound of brakes squealing and a car crashing in the distance made Roger glance at the window. "A car accident?" Weemes gasped in disbelief. "Out here? It has to be a member of the Institute!"

"Let's find out," Roger grunted. "Grab your medical bag or a first aid kit and meet me at my car!"

* * *

><p>Roger had the car started when Weemes jogged out and joined him. Soon the two of them were driving over the bridge and out the main gate heading back to town. Going by car was almost unnecessary though, for they soon spied a small car that had gone off the road and into a tree. Roger stopped the car and the two of them got out and dashed over to the vehicle.<p>

"Oh my God!" Weemes cried as he saw the crumpled form of Institute's secretary in the driver's seat. "Rita!"

"Is she alive?" Roger asked as he paused to examine the tire tracks. The car had skidded off the road as if the driver had hit the brake suddenly. Why had she done that? There was nothing in the road.

"I'm losing her!" Weemes cried. "Come on Rita don't—!" He grew quiet. "We were too late," he said quietly. "She's dead."

"Did she say anything before she died?" Roger asked before he could stop himself.

"Only that she saw a monster!"

* * *

><p>Dorothy dashed through the woods at a speed impossible for a human. The distorted creature didn't look particularly fast and it… was ahead of her! How did it get ahead of her? Dorothy was running too fast to change direction so she settled for jumping <em>over<em> it in one terrific bound. Its limbs didn't bend the way a human's would and it reached out for her with unnaturally long arms but fortunately its reflexes didn't seem better than an average human's. Dorothy managed to evade its grasp despite the fact that its arms were long enough to seize her at the altitude she had attained.

She continued to run through the forest and was trying to make it back to the lodge when her leg was seized by a massive taloned hand at the end of a long hairy arm. The thing was lying down in the tall grass waiting for her. As it dragged her towards it Dorothy realized that its hand had _two_ thumbs, one on each side of its misshapen paw! When its wrinkly neckless empty eyed head came into view Dorothy kicked at it with all her might. Her eyes widened as her foot pushed into its squishy head as if it didn't have a skull. The thing let go of her and she rolled to her feet and continued running. The entire time the creature had made no sound.

* * *

><p>Roger Smith and Carl Weemes were a grim pair as they drove back to Dinosaur Lodge with the remains of Rita Maeter wrapped in a blanket in the trunk. As they drove up they saw the young housekeeper Ellen Cody walk out to the porch to meet them. "Mister Smith! Doctor Weemes!" the girl said as she trotted over to them while Roger parked the car. "This way! The others are waiting for you in the conference room."<p>

"Thank you Ellen," Weemes said stiffly. "Get me a drink will you? Something to settle my nerves," he added as he and Roger got out of the car.

"Yes of course Doctor," Ellen nodded.

Before entering the lodge, Roger paused to pull a tiny one-button remote control out of his pocket. A jack lifted the long black Cadillac up as ebony armor plating came out of hidden panels to cover the car entirely. Roger turned and entered the lodge leaving a speechless Ellen Cody on the porch.

"Ah... Roger Smith!" Torrance Dandridge snorted as Roger and the shaken doctor entered the first floor conference room. "There you are! Did you have to take Carl on a joyride while I've been trying to round everybody up for this meeting? I've had the devil of a time…"

"Let him be Torrance," Marina Ivanovna interrupted as Roger and Weemes sat down at the long table. "From the looks on their faces something horrible has happened. Are you all right? You two look like you've seen a ghost!"

"I hate to be the bearer of bad news," Roger coughed, "but we have. Rita Maeter's car went off the road. I'm afraid she's dead."

"Dead?" Dandridge gasped in disbelief. "Are you sure?"

"Quite sure," Weemes gulped. "She died shortly after we got there. There was nothing we could do."

The young handyman Harry Jones chose that moment to enter. "I can't find Burton Fielding anywhere," he reported. "I can't find Gilbert Manes either."

"Now where _is_ that man?" Dandridge grumbled. "He's never around when I need him! And as for Manes, where the devil could a chef go at this hour?"

"I wasn't aware that being a chef meant you had impaired mobility," Roger shrugged. "What about Joe Schienfeld?"

"I thought he went back to Paradigm City," Doctor Ivanovna said. "I don't see his car out front."

"Never mind him," Dandridge grunted. "Roger Smith had something to announce. He says that he found a dead body."

"Poor Rita," Ivanovna moaned.

"Actually I meant another dead body," Roger clarified.

"What?" Marina Ivanovna gasped. "Did she hit someone?"

"No, while we were having breakfast Dorothy was taking a walk and stumbled upon a corpse that had washed up on the shore of the lake," Roger continued. "She told me and I notified Doctor Dandridge. I was about to ask Doctor Weemes if he could do an autopsy when we heard Miss Maeter's car go off the road."

"I sent her into town to fetch the constable," Dandridge explained. "And now you tell me _she's_ dead too! This can't be happening."

"I know. It's unbelievable!" Carl Weemes stammered. Ellen Cody entered with a drink that she gave to the grateful Weemes. "Thank you my dear," he sighed before he took a sip.

"Doctor Weemes, you said that before she died, she said that she saw a monster," Roger turned his attention to the shaken doctor. "What do you suppose she meant by that?"

"I-I don't know," Weems gulped. "You don't suppose that some prankster was in a costume perhaps?"

"It must have been some bizarre joke," Dandridge shook his head. "We all know that monsters don't exist."

* * *

><p>Despite her best efforts, the shambling creature always seemed to be between Dorothy and the lodge. She was being herded away from the lodge and was forced to flee deeper into the wilderness. It was the same creature that somehow got ahead of her. Before she buried her foot in its head, the creature didn't have a bruise. Incredibly, one slowly shambling monster was able to cut ahead of her every time. She was being surrounded by one creature!<p>

* * *

><p>"If someone jumped in the road wearing a costume that someone could have been trying to prevent Rita Maeter from reaching Electric City," Roger told the assembled scientists. "Doctor Dandridge, you said that you sent Miss Maeter to fetch the constable. Could it be that somebody didn't want police poking around here?"<p>

"My god!" Dandridge gasped. "Are you trying to tell me that she was _murdered_?"

"From the sounds of things we could all be under siege," said a quiet elegant voice. The dandyish Lawrence Winthrop was casually leaning in the doorway listening to them. "Forgive me for being late everyone but I don't move as fast as I used to," the old man said as he strode into the room and took as seat at the conference table. "I didn't catch the entire conversation but do I understand that someone ran Miss Maeter off the road?"

"Hard to say," Roger shrugged. "From the skid marks and her last words it looks like she swerved to avoid hitting something or somebody and went off the road and into a tree."

"So now we've got _two_ dead bodies," Dandridge snorted in disgust. "Harry, go get a stretcher. I'll go to the lab building and see how low I can put the thermostat. We'll see if we can clear a space in Burton's lab to put the bodies. That is unless you think they'd be better off in the infirmary?"

"What?" Weemes gasped in surprise. "Yes, yes of course. After we get poor Rita out of Smith's car we can go out to the woods and find that poor devil that Smith found. I should think he would be getting pretty ripe by now."

"Poor Dorothy, I left her in the woods guarding a corpse," Roger shook his head. "She's probably wondering what happened to me."

* * *

><p>It wasn't long before Dorothy found herself forced back to the shoreline. In desperation she dove into the lake. Despite her torn clothing her flesh was still watertight and she didn't have to breathe. The creature chasing her was strong and resilient, but it appeared organic and hopefully couldn't function underwater. She didn't try to swim but simply let her weight drag her down.<p>

* * *

><p>Later Roger Smith and Harry Jones stood by the shoreline, a hospital stretcher laying the grass behind them. Carl Weemes scratched his head and looked at Roger. "You say that you found a dead body here? A second one?"<p>

"Technically it's the first one," Roger grunted as he glanced around irritably. "It was right here, half buried in the silt, as if it washed up or it wasn't buried deep enough. You can see the depression where it's been dug up. There's fresh footprints around here too, a good one right here. I don't know what _this_ is."

Weemes and Jones looked at where Roger was pointing. A clearing in the vegetation had exposed the wide track of a six toed creature whose foot was as wide as two hand lengths. Its toes were clawed like a bear's. Its foot had sunk deep into the marshy ground, indicating that the creature had been quite heavy.

"It must be some kind of hoax," Weemes's offered. "Someone is trying to confuse us…" His voice trailed off as he looked around. "But where is Miss Wayneright?"

"That's what I'd like to know," Roger said.

* * *

><p>Roger returned to the lodge to change into a black tee shirt, black denim pants, hiking boots and a brown leather jacket. He then took a long hike into the woods. He crouched and examined broken branches, bent twigs and crushed grass blades, but the truth of the matter was that he was a big city boy and not an expert tracker who camped out in the wilderness and shot his own food. He had followed what he thought was Dorothy's tracks off the trail and into the woods and was now almost completely lost. He would have stayed lost too if he hadn't found tracks that even a city slicker like himself couldn't miss.<p>

A vehicle's tracks. Car tracks to be precise. Someone had taken a car off the road and into the woods. He followed the tracks to an upgrade and finally found the road. Okay, so he wasn't completely lost. Now that he found the road he could get back to the lodge before he starved to death.

He backtracked downhill in order to find out where the car was going. A few hundred yards brought him to a blue sedan that he recognized as Joe Schienfeld's. So he hadn't returned home to Paradigm City after all. Someone had tried to cover the car with tree branches but in reality it was the darkness in the shade of the forest that really hid it. If the sun had been shining on it, the car would have been visible for miles.

Roger circled the car in a vain attempt to look for footprints but the ground was too hard to reveal anything definite. Finally he pulled the tree branches off the car so he could examine it. The driver's seat still smelled of cigar smoke; if there was any doubt to the ownership of the car it was gone now. Joe Schienfeld could smoke like a chimney and Roger couldn't remember a time he had seen the music agent without his cigar. Roger moved to the trunk of the car and opened it with his stiletto-style lockpick.

The young investigator gasped and staggered backwards from the open car trunk before his face frowned in steely resignation. Lying in the trunk of his own car was Joe Schienfeld. He was almost in a fetal position staring at nothing in particular and was so still that he didn't even bother with breathing. Roger didn't think that breathing was part of Joe Schienfeld's agenda anymore, because plump balding middle-aged man in the cheap suit was as dead as Gregory Stoker's career.

* * *

><p>On a desk filled with hourglasses a phone rings. Roger's hand picks up the receiver and a sinister voice says:<p>

_Next: Red Handed_


	9. Red Handed

_The Big O__ and all of its settings and characters are owned by Cartoon Network, Sunrise, and Bandai Visual. Additional plot, settings and characters are © by Chaosium._

THE BIG O:

ACT 31

DREAMS DARK AND DEADLY

_Chapter Nine: Red Handed_

Roger attempted to get Schienfeld's car back on the road, but the embankment was too steep. Whoever had dumped the car never intended to retrieve it. He knew he had made a mess of the crime scene but he had a feeling that getting back to town in order to fetch Electric City's constable would be a challenge. Rita Maeter had made the attempt but didn't make it. Joe Schienfeld had tried to leave too and now he was dead and stuffed in the trunk of his own car.

Or _did_ Schienfeld try to leave? Had anybody actually _seen_ the pudgy agent say goodbye and drive off? Or had he just disappeared in the middle of the night and everybody assumed that he had returned to Paradigm City? What if the music agent had found out something he shouldn't have and never got to live to regret it? Dorothy had said that he was a snoop, he had even bragged about it. Thinking carefully, Roger decided that Joe's curiosity had probably doomed him.

So where was he murdered? The area in the woods where Roger found Schienfeld's car was the dump site not the murder site. And what had killed him? Roger's cursory examination didn't reveal a mark on the body. Getting the body back to the lodge undetected so Weemes could do an autopsy was going to be a priority.

And where was Dorothy? He had left Dorothy guarding an unidentified body by the lake and now she too had disappeared. She was supposed to be under his protection, dammit! And like an idiot he left her watching the most incriminating evidence he could think of, a dead body! Without that, there's no proof that a crime had been committed in the first place! How stupid could he _be_ anyway?

In any case, he had another body, and this time he wasn't going to lose it. It was his best lead to find Dorothy. No problem. He'd use his watch to summon his long black Cadillac known as the Griffon and then use the grappler hidden in the front bumper to pull the blue sedan up onto the road.

* * *

><p>When Roger brought Schienfeld's car back to the lodge, he found the young blonde housekeeper Ellen Cody waiting for him. "Roger Smith!" the pretty girl chirped as he got out of the car. "I thought you were Mister Schienfeld! Where are Harry and Doctor Weemes?"<p>

"I was hoping you could tell me," Roger said as he operated the controls on his watch to summon the Griffon back to the lodge. "I'd like him to take a look at Mister Schienfeld as soon as he gets back."

"Oh my!" Ellen put her hand over her mouth. "Are you saying that the body you found in the woods was Mister Schienfeld?"

"Not _that_ body, no," Roger grumbled. "The original body Dorothy found by the lake was gone when we got there. No sign of Dorothy herself either. We split up and went looking for her and it looks like I'm the first one back. You were waiting for Harry Jones I suppose?"

"Oh dear," Ellen blushed. "Does it show?"

"Not as much as you'd think," Roger winked. "If you'd got time on your hands could you keep an eye on Schienfeld's car for me until Doctor Weemes gets back? I'm going to see if I can find Mister Winthrop."

"Of course sir," nodded an embarrassed Ellen Cody.

Roger climbed the stairs and knocked on the door to Lawrence Winthrop's suite. "Mister Winthrop?" Roger called. He opened the door and entered. Nobody home. That was fine with Roger; he wanted to poke around anyway. The old man wasn't in his room right now and this was Roger's chance to get a look inside his safe. His time in the Military Police had taught him that when looking for the motive for homicide it's usually best to follow the money. Lawrence Winthrop was the primary backer for the Institute and if he wasn't behind these multiple homicides, he was probably the reason.

Dorothy's description was accurate. The painting that hid the safe was truly stomach turning. It depicted the images of a number of creatures baying at the moon while squatting in a cemetery where they had apparently been scavenging for unholy food. But it wasn't the subject matter that truly curdled the blood, it was the technique! Nothing was blurred, distorted, or conventionalized; outlines were sharp and lifelike, and details were almost painfully defined. It was like looking a photograph of mongrel doglike humanoid ghouls. Whoever the artist— R.U. Pickman, if the name jotted in the corner of the blasphemous work was correct—was, he had been, in every sense—in conception and in execution—a thorough, painstaking, and almost scientific _realist_.

Inside the safe were private papers and a moldy book whose title page indicated that it was titled _The Necronomicon._ The book was ancient, apparently written at least five centuries before the time of the estimated time of the Event that erased the world if the date was correct. The book must have been a work of fiction, or at the very least a record of superstition if the excerpt Roger read was any indication:

_Nor is it to be though that man is either the oldest or the last of Earth's masters, or that the common bulk of life and substance walks alone. The Old Ones are, and the Old Ones shall be._

"Read any good books lately?" Winthrop's voice called from the doorway. Roger looked up from the ancient book to see the dapper old gentleman surveying him sternly. "Put it back in the safe when you're done with it; it's quite old you know."

Roger shut the book, smiled and shrugged. As he placed the tome back in the safe and closed the door he said. "Tell you what? Tell me what the book's about and I won't have to read it."

"It's an English translation of an earlier work at least a thousand years old," Winthrop assured him coldly. "The author claims that the true sources of human myth and religion are based on powerful entities from beyond that once ruled the world and will eventually do so again."

"From beyond?" Roger snorted. "Beyond what?"

"I haven't the slightest," Winthrop shrugged. "It's all part of a myth cycle I've been researching. Before the Event, a group called the Theosophists believed that different races of beings existed before their time and that mankind would be replaced after we were gone. I've been attempting to research how widespread that belief was and determine if there's any truth to it."

Roger wouldn't let himself be distracted. "That's all well and good, Mister Winthrop but what does this have to do with Dream research?"

"Didn't I tell you?" Winthrop asked with mild sarcasm. "The Theosophists had this silly idea that our predecessors could communicate through time with us through our dreams. The author of that book asserts that there's a monster sealed beneath the waves that can do the same thing."

"Do you really believe that?" Roger asked incredulously.

"Not completely, no," Winthrop admitted. "Still _something_ made us all lose our Memories and young people your age sometimes experience Memories that aren't yours. It may only be a theory but it's worth checking out, wouldn't you agree?"

"Sure," Roger scratched the back of his neck. "Aren't you going to ask me what I was doing in your safe?"

"It had crossed my mind yes," Winthrop nodded, "but I had hoped you would share it with me eventually."

"Something strange is going on here," Roger told him. "Dorothy and the corpse she found have gone missing. Rita Maeter is dead. And while looking for Dorothy Wayneright I found Joe Schienfeld dead and stuffed in the trunk of his car. I think it's time for all secrets to come out in the open Mister Winthrop. I need to find out what's going on before anybody else gets hurt."

"Mister Schienfeld is dead too?" Winthrop clucked warily. "Dear me. People seem to be dropping like flies don't they?"

"Yes, and who knows how long this has been going on," Roger continued.  
>"Refugees from Paradigm City have been disappearing around Electric City lately. Where you find one half-buried body you might find more. It's possible the woods are full of corpses. Who knows?"<p>

"And you think that anybody here is conducting experiments on people against their will?" Winthrop asked. "Really, Mister Smith, you watch too many horror movies."

"Or not enough," Roger growled. "It's not enough that our serial killer has been getting rid of people who won't be missed; now he's moving on people who have been at this institute! Rita Maeter was frightened off the road while trying to summon the constable! Joe Schienfeld was a horrible snoop; he must have seen something he shouldn't have and had to be put out of the way! And now Dorothy Wayneright's missing! If she doesn't show up in an hour or so you're going to find out just how pushy I can get, Mister Winthrop, so out with it: What are you hiding that's so important that someone might kill for it?"

Lawrence Winthrop was unimpressed. He leaned against a table and rubbed his chin thoughtfully in exaggerated nonchalance to mock Roger's bluster. He looked back at Roger and finally spoke. "Well," he began almost apologetically, "you have to put yourself in my place you know. I want to know what's happening also and I must confess, so far my list of suspects is very small."

"Is it now?" Roger raised a skeptical eyebrow.

"Indeed," Winthrop nodded. "As a matter of fact, you have the singular honor of being my prime suspect."

"What? Me?" Roger protested. "But I just got here!"

"Yes and since you arrived you've apparently managed to find not one but three bodies," Winthrop continued in a mildly amused tone, "all in one day. Something of a record I should think. Now I don't know how they died, but even if you're not carrying a concealed weapon both you and Miss Wayneright are easily strong enough to finish someone with your bare hands…"

"Are you kidding?" Roger roared. "You can't possibly suspect Dorothy!"

"She _is_ stronger than she looks, isn't she?" Winthrop pointed out dryly. "And should she remove her clothing and peel off her artificial skin I have no doubt that her appearance would be quite monstrous. I can't speak for poor Rita, but I have no doubt that _I_ would get into an accident if she jumped in front of _my_ car. As a matter of fact, you could have used her to commit all your little homicides couldn't you? She often goes for a walk by herself while the rest of us are eating doesn't she? And I'd be surprised if she has to _sleep_ like the rest of us…"

"Now listen here!" Roger shouted. "If you think that Dorothy had anything to do with this you're mistaken! She's an android! There's no way she could possibly—"

He stopped in midsentence, staggered by a recollection from his past. _Dorothy Wayneright was dressed in a red hood and carrying a basket from which she pulled an automatic pistol and pointed it at Roger. She had killed before and was grinning like a maniac while shouting Roger's name…_ But it wasn't Dorothy Wayneright; it was Red Destiny, an android assassin who physically resembled Dorothy in every way. Even though harming a human goes against every principle of android behavior Rosewater and his conspiracy had no trouble turning an android of Dorothy's sophistication into a ruthless killer.

"Are you all right, Mister Smith?" Winthrop asked gently. "Did you just remember something perhaps? Has Miss Wayneright been acting out of character lately?"

Images of Dorothy's scantily clad or naked body flashed in Roger's head. Dorothy _had_ been acting out of character hadn't she? Both times she meant for Roger to see her like that; she practically baited the trap for Roger didn't she? Was she up to something, or was that just a symptom that something was wrong with her?

"No!" Roger blushed childishly. "I'm just worried about her, that's all! If I don't find out what's going on around here I can't find out what happened to Dorothy!"

"Forgive me for suspecting you Mister Smith, but since you arrived both you and your lovely assistant have been sneaking into people's rooms," Winthrop scolded, "and that was _before_ the bodies started turning up. Were you aware that Torrance sent Rita into town?"

"Yes, summoning the constable was my idea," Roger admitted.

"Mm," Winthrop grunted while rubbing the back of his neck thoughtfully. "So you see where this puts us then. You don't seem the type Mister Smith but so far there _is_ no one else. This could all be a ploy to muscle the Dreamweb away."

"There are more suspects than me," Roger pointed out. "Burton Fielding claims that _he _was the one who invented the Dreamweb and that Dandridge stole it!"

"Well that's plenty dodgy," Winthrop said, "but so far I only have _your_ word for it."

"People were disappearing from Electric City before I got here!" Roger insisted.

"Again, I only have your word for it," Winthrop shrugged. "Oh don't worry; I don't have any proof for my suspicions. But there really isn't much for an old coot my age to do but keep his eyes open."

"I can prove what I said about Fielding," Roger grumbled. "I'll lay odds I know where he is. He's got a second laboratory under the Dreamweb that he's hiding from Dandridge. Two to one he's there right now, working on his 'Dream Imager'.

"'Dream Imager'?" Winthrop repeated with skeptical amusement. "That must be something to see. I'll get my cloak."

* * *

><p>It was a short walk from the lodge to the lab building so despite the chill air Winthrop probably didn't need that inverness cloak he wore over his smoking jacket and frilly shirt. But a cloak would be perfect to hide a concealed weapon in, something Roger kept in mind. Soon they were opening the door in the basement marked 'DREAMWEB CLEAN ROOM'.<p>

Standing at one of the consoles in front of the strange apparatus he called the 'Dream Imager' was Burton Fielding.

"Hello, Mister Fielding, I'd like to… What is _that_?" Roger gasped.

Projected onto the ten foot diameter platform in the machine's center was the image of a strange shaggy wrinkled vaguely humanoid creature, its rugose, dead-eyed rudiment of a head swaying drunkenly from side to side. Its forepaws were extended, with talons spread wide and its whole body was taught with murderous malignity despite its utter lack of facial description.

"Mister Fielding!" Winthrop barked.

Fielding shuddered and staggered backwards. He yelped and convulsed briefly when he hit the floor before sitting up and staring slack jawed at the image in the Dream Imager. "Yah!" he cried as he jumped to his feet. He tried to run out of the room but collided with Roger and Winthrop.

"What is that creature young man?" Winthrop seized the young scientist by the shoulder and pushed him back into the room. "Is it some sort of hologram? Are you responsible for Rita's death?"

"You better start talking!" Roger growled as he seized Fielding's other shoulder. "Where's Dorothy? I owe you one for slugging me the other day! You better give me some answers or you'll have to do it without any teeth!"

"What? Who? What are you talking about?" Fielding babbled. "Where am I?"

"I'm from Paradigm City," Roger sneered. "Back there we know the old 'I've got amnesia' bit by heart. We caught you red handed. You better try again."

"Roger Smith!" Fielding gasped. "Mister Winthrop! What are you doing here?"

"We could ask you the same question," Winthrop said sternly. "What is that thing on the screen there?"

"I don't know! It must be an image from a volunteer's nightmares," Fielding offered. He went over and turned a knob causing the creature to vanish. "I'm sorry, I can't think straight with that creature staring at me. What happened? Did I fall asleep or something?"

"You missed a lot," Roger muttered. "Schienfeld's dead, Miss Maeter's dead, Dorothy's disappeared and I found a corpse that's been lying around for at least a day or two…"

"What? When did this happen?" Fielding stammered.

"Just today," Roger tutted. "You really need to get out more Fielding."

"I swear! I've been in here all day!" Fielding protested. "I swear I have!"

"Dorothy isn't the easiest girl to overpower, but an electronic genius like you could manage it," Roger said. "You have five seconds to tell me what you were doing or Mister Winthrop here will witness me commit a felony."

"I swear! I don't know what you're talking about!" Fielding insisted. "I was working on the Dream Imager and must have fallen asleep! I haven't been getting a lot of sleep lately and when I do, it isn't any good! You have to believe me!"

"I have a hard time trusting someone who says that I _have_ to believe them," Roger sneered. "Come on," he growled as he seized the back of the scientist's neck with an iron grip. "We're going for a walk."

"Ow!" Fielding yelped. "To where?"

"I want to see what's under the carillon tower where Doctor Dandridge said the Datamaster was kept," Roger said as he steered the lanky scientist out the door. "It's the only building I haven't been in and you're going to give me the guided tour. Now get moving!"

* * *

><p>On a desk filled with hourglasses a phone rings. Roger's hand picks up the receiver and a sinister voice says:<p>

_Next: Short of Breath_


	10. Short of Breath

_The Big O__ and all of its settings and characters are owned by Cartoon Network, Sunrise, and Bandai Visual. Additional plot, settings and characters are © by Chaosium._

THE BIG O:

ACT 31

DREAMS DARK AND DEADLY

_Chapter Ten: Short of Breath_

Behind a locked door on the third floor of Dinosaur Lodge a haggard man who appeared to be in his mid-forties strummed on a guitar.

_"He knew too little, saw too much. No escaping the nightmare's clutch—_

_Evil in the guise of man, child of the deep sea's clan;_

_Gone to death with no goodbye, but with strange eons even death may die."_

His song was interrupted when the door to his room opened. "Come," the squat figure ordered as a high pitched noise filled the room. "There is work to do."

* * *

><p>"Leggo!" Burton Fielding protested as Roger held the scientist's arm behind his back and forced him out of the Lab building and towards the skinny carillon tower that was nearby. "You're hurting my arm!"<p>

"I'll hurt more than your arm if you've done anything to Dorothy," Roger growled.

"I think it's safe to let go of him," said the dapper Lawrence Winthrop tagging along behind them. "He knows better than to run."

"He better not," Roger threatened as they approached the thirty-foot stone tower of circular blocks. "Or he'll be eating his next meal through a straw."

Roger noticed a stair descending into the earth nearby. "Where does that go?"

"It leads to the generators and the air conditioning machinery for the Datamaster," Fielding told him. "But you can't enter by that door without setting off an alarm.

"I understand it all connects up down there," Winthrop added. "Don't worry; we'll check everything I assure you."

"Very well," Roger nodded. "Mister Fielding? If you would do the honors?"

Fielding fumbled with his keychain and put a key into the hole on the disk at the end of the pole. The elevator doors opened and the three of them got in. The doors opened to a room with shaped like a section of a pie with two straight walls and one outer curved wall. A door was in each wall, but only the sliding glass doors in the curved wall was protected by a keypad.

"What's in there?" Roger asked.

"The Datamaster," Fielding said, "but only the right combination will get you in. The whole room is sterile; even the air going in is filtered."

"A locked room is the perfect place to hide something, especially a dead body," Roger said. "Open it Fielding."

"Okay," the young scientist gulped as he punched in the combination. Their shoes scrunched on a black pad spread before the door like a welcome mat before the doors slid open. They entered a small room that had lockers to the right and left. A second set of glass doors remained shut on the other side.

"Hold it," Roger ordered as the mop haired Fielding opened a locker.

"I was just getting out some lab coats," Fielding explained. "You got to wear them every time you enter the computer room."

"We'll make an exception in this case," Roger nodded dryly. "If Dorothy's not in the computer room we'll search the lockers and then move on to the rest of the basement area. How long do we have to wait until the inner doors open?"

"Only until the air has been filtered," Fielding told him. At that moment, the doors to the Datamaster slid open. "There we go," he said has he entered the computer room. "Now be careful and don't touch anything. The Datamaster is a sensitive instrument… huh?"

Before Fielding could continue, the doors slid shout behind him. Quizzically, he pressed the button on his side of the doors but the portal refused to open. In the meantime, Roger and Winthrop heard fans hidden in the ceiling roar to life.

"What's happening?" Roger asked as he looked around.

"The air is being pumped out!" Winthrop exclaimed.

That was good news/bad news. The good news was that Roger could probably cross Winthrop off his list of suspects. The bad news was that if Roger didn't think of something, he was probably going to die.

And thinking of something proved harder than it looked too. He threw himself against the clear transparent doors, but it wasn't any good; they were made of some kind of special plexiglass that was stronger than it looked. He saw Fielding's horrified expression and it looked like he had been wrong about the scientist too. Either that or Fielding had never done the dirty work himself and never saw people die up close before. He thought he actually saw the young scientist mouth 'no', but of course he couldn't hear him and wasn't really paying attention in the first place.

Roger's head was ringing and his lungs were aching. He felt like he was going to pop like a balloon and he couldn't breathe. It was all he could do to stay on his feet and pretty soon he couldn't even do that. He was in too much pain to pass out but it wasn't long before he did anyway. In the meantime Fielding was at the controls of the Datamaster, but whatever he was doing was anyone's guess.

The doors hissed open and two figures appeared from the outer doors. "Good," said a short squat man. "Now help me move the bodies."

* * *

><p>Slowly painfully, Roger regained consciousness. His breath rasped uncomfortably in his throat and he couldn't move. He heard voices but his brain couldn't make sense of them, at least not at first. Gradually the pain in his lungs, stomach and head managed to team up and revive the bleary negotiator.<p>

"I'm pleased you're finally awake," a hoarse whispery voice snarled as Roger's eyes unsuccessfully tried to focus on the harsh lighting. Where was he? He tried to cough out a witty rejoinder before he realized the voice wasn't talking to him. It was talking to Winthrop.

"It's hard not wake up when you put an oxygen mask over my face," Winthrop's hoarse voice retorted coolly. "Gilbert Manes, our own chef. I suppose you have some reason for this strange behavior?"

"Oh yes," Manes gloated, his bulgy eyes shining. "I have the perfect reason Mister Winthrop!" He said that name as if it was profanity. "You, whose father was the bane of my family, have been the perfect pawn!"

"Oh really?" Winthrop attempted to sound calm. "In what way?"

"It seems that Dandridge and Fielding's little toy mimicked the human brain better than they dreamed," Manes chuckled at the pun. "It seems they inadvertently provided a channel through which the will of the Great One could work Its will on the your unsuspecting researchers."

"The Great One?" Winthrop repeated. "Its will? What are you talking about?"

"That will, the _chorazin_, that portion of Its being most psychically accessible, has been invited by the methodical intrusion of the Dreamweb into humanity's collective unconscious," Manes explained. "The chorazin was able to tap into and make limited use of the Datamaster computer."

"What for?" Winthrop asked as his mind raced for a possible escape.

"The Great One's id-like, vicious will replaces your so-called rational thought altogether, seeping like water to dominate alike matter and the immaterial," Manes continued. "When the rest of Its kind was freed from their hibernation four decades ago the Great One was left in Its living death as a sacrifice. The Great One wishes to free Itself and enjoy the existence this world has to offer."

"And how is it going to do that?" Winthrop asked to keep him talking.

"Quite simply, Its going to create a simulacrum of itself to use as a physical body in order to free Its true self," Manes said, "but in order to do that it needs the requisite amount of energy."

"Energy?" Winthrop asked. "What do you mean? Electricity perhaps? There isn't very much of that here…"

"Not Electricity," Manes shook his head. "Bioenergy. Life energy. The kind you can only get from sentient beings."

"Life energy?" Winthrop shuddered. "You mean human souls? You're sucking the life force out of people?"

"Yes, Mister Winthrop, your father would be proud," Manes sneered. "Your father certainly was when he put my Grandfather's house to the torch fifty years ago, and then bought up the property and built this place on it. Did he gloat before he died, Mister Winthrop or did he forget everything? I want to know."

"Gilbert," Winthrop muttered. "Gilman. Your real name is Gilman isn't it? You're the remnant of that cult mentioned in my father's journal aren't you?"

"Yes, Mister Winthrop," the cook smiled. "Now it's just the two of us, both of us the last of our lines. Back where it all began, to finish it forever! Poetic, isn't it?"

"Very," Winthrop huffed. "Tell me, before you finish me off, how much of that in my father's journal is true anyway? Are you really related to a race of fish people?"

"Oh yes," Manes nodded. "They're quite immortal. They never grow old. Never die. I can't wait until the change is upon me so I can join them."

"Well good luck with that," Winthrop snorted. "Tell me, how did you manage to take control of all the researchers?"

"I didn't," Manes shrugged. "The Great One did. As each scientist went under the Dreamweb, the Great One was able to insert itself in their minds. Now it can take control of any of them when they sleep. The sleepwalking Fielding himself spent months reprogramming the Datamaster without even realizing it! And to this day he has no memory of any of the services he provided! One by one they all have been subverted. All except you Mister Winthrop."

"I'm a private person," Winthrop said dryly. "You've been keeping secrets of your own haven't you?"

"It's time for all secrets to come out now Mister Winthrop," Manes continued. "Your new visitor has seen to that! Mister Smith and his deceptive companion found one of the bodies and the Great One couldn't allow an investigation when It's so close!" He glared at the gurney that Roger was lying on. "Thanks to those meddlers we've had to step up Its plan and hope that the life forces of the remaining people here are enough to allow It to create a physical form. I've sacrificed over a hundred to It, and It's almost strong enough! Just a few more…"

"And the monster that scared poor Rita off the road?" Winthrop asked. "What was that, you in a plastic mask or something?"

"No Mister Winthrop," Manes shook his head. "It seems that Fielding wanted to prove his genius by creating another invention. A few modifications to his subconscious and he created his Dream Imager exactly to the Great One's specifications! With it the Great One can focus Its will and actually create physical servants in the form of solid holograms!"

And that was what we caught Fielding doing," Winthrop said. "He must have been sleepwalking, under your control. The boy hasn't been getting very much sleep but how do you manage to knock him out so you can control him? Have you been drugging his coffee?"

"Only when I had to," Manes gloated. "But to be honest that isn't necessary anymore. While he was asleep Mister Fielding was good enough to build a portable device that lets out subsonic echoes. With it I was able to take control of the minds of people who hadn't even been under the Dreamweb!"

"You've been busy," Winthrop grumbled. "I don't suppose that the wholesale murder of over a hundred innocent people bothers you?"

"Not in the least," Manes assured him. "Although I have to admit that since your father's time your kind has become an… endangered species."

"Endangered species?" Winthrop flinched. "What do you mean by that?" He thought about it for a moment. "Oh yes, I see what you mean. You're implying that aside of Paradigm City and a few towns there isn't much of humanity left aren't you?"

"Such a true intellectual," Manes smiled condescendingly. "That's right. There isn't very many of you stupid apes to go around. That's why They set aside this land for you. To prevent you from going extinct, They've allowed you to thrive undisturbed in your natural environment, a corrupt decadent city."

"If 'They' truly exist and are all powerful, don't you think they might stop your master from making his miraculous escape?" Winthrop asked obviously playing for time. If he could confuse Manes maybe there was a way out of this.

"They don't care about you stupid apes as much as you think They do," Manes assured him. "But the Great One's plan is foolproof! It has control of your staff, your facility, and your computer. For example, when Mister Smith here tried to telephone Paradigm City's Military Police the Datamaster intercepted the conversation and faked Colonel Dastun's voice as soon as it had sampled enough to create a convincing imitation."

So that's what happened, Roger thought. After a hiss of static, Dastun's tune totally changed. It was like a dial on a radio was turned to a different station.

"I had hoped to draw this out slowly to allay suspicion but thanks to Mister Smith I shall have to finish you all off in a hurry. I've already disposed of Doctor Dandridge and Doctor Weemes, but I might as well move Mister Smith up to the front of the line. It makes no sense to wake him up just to put him out again."

That's my cue, Roger decided. It doesn't matter how dizzy I am, I've got to try something. He tried to heave himself off the gurney but found that he was bound by leather straps. No matter how much he struggled he couldn't get up.

"Ah, with us once again Mister Smith?" Gilbert Manes asked him. "Not for much longer. It's a pity for the staff that you had to be so nosy. Now I've had to drain the people here at the Institute for the life force I need. If not for your interference the deaths would have been strangers, people no one would miss! But no, you had to be nosy like Mister Schienfeld! And you will discover what happens to interfering monkeys who find out too much! Johnny! Fielding! Take him to the Dreamweb!"

Burton Fielding and the haggard unshaven ruin that was Johnny Booger moved stiffly towards Roger's gurney. "Fielding! Wake up!" Roger cried. "Snap out of it! He's using the Dreamweb to commit mass murder! He's taken your invention and twisted it! You've got to snap out of it before anyone else dies! You aren't a murderer!"

"It's no use Mister Smith; he can't hear you," Manes shook his head. "He won't even remember you except as a forgotten dream. And don't worry. Soon you won't have any dreams ever again."

Roger Smith recognized the interior of the lab building as he was wheeled down the hall from the infirmary to the Dreamweb by a hypnotized Burton Fielding and a vacant and mindless Johnny Booger. In the Dreamweb control room Marina Ivanovna and Ellen Cody were sitting in chairs, the same vacant expressions on their faces. "I see that you've saved the women for last," Roger sneered. "For someone who claims that humans are a bunch of stupid apes you sure seem to like girls as much as the next man. Did you try it with Nora Pope?"

"I suppose that it is a burden to have so much bad blood within me," Manes admitted. "To be honest, almost five eighths of my heritage is the same as yours and I admit that at times I stray in the direction of the females of your species."

This guy was totally loony. He acted like he wasn't human or something. Still, Roger had to keep him talking; it was his only chance. "You tried to force yourself on Nora Pope and she resisted you didn't she? You had to act fast or she'd blow the whistle on you. You had Fielding test out his Dream Imager and conjured up a monster to get rid of her. It wasn't able to physically touch her but it was capable of driving her insane wasn't it?"

Manes chuckled ruefully. "It took more than one monster I assure you. Five or six in quick succession, and although they could be seen they could only remain solid for just a few seconds. But Fielding has perfected the technology. Today we were able to keep a creature solid for almost an hour!"

"Where's Dorothy?" Roger shouted as Fielding and Booger wheeled him into the transparent circular chamber at the center of the Dreamweb control room. "What have you done with her?"

"You should be worried about yourself Mister Smith," Manes cackled as his mesmerized servants placed suction cups attached to wires on Roger's face. "Soon you will be connected to an intelligence a thousand times greater than your own… right before it devours you. You should have stayed in Paradigm City Mister Smith. Fielding! Activate the Dreamweb! Let the Great One have a taste of Mister Smith!"

My God, Roger thought, he's got the insane cackle down pat!

Roger didn't know how much of Manes story was true but he did know that being attached to the Dreamweb could place him under Manes' control or it would kill him. And Manes was choosing the second option. If only his body hadn't been subjected to near vacuum conditions under the carillon tower; then he would be strong enough to break free of his restraints. Adrenaline was returning his strength but it wasn't enough! Even now he could see Fielding robotically turning the power on. As the machinery hummed to life he could almost see his life flashing before his eyes including a few images he didn't recognize. But mostly he could see Fielding flicking switches, turning dials and pushing buttons. Blood pulsed in Roger's ears at a volume that almost drowned out the electronic hum of the Dreamweb coming to life. "No wait!" Roger cried, his eyes bulging in fear as he struggled against his restraints. "Stop!"

* * *

><p>On a desk filled with hourglasses a phone rings. Roger's hand picks up the receiver and a sinister voice says:<p>

_Next: The Walking Dead _


	11. The Walking Dead

_The Big O__ and all of its settings and characters are owned by Cartoon Network, Sunrise, and Bandai Visual. Additional plot, settings and characters are © by Chaosium. Additional material by Howard Phillips Lovecraft._

THE BIG O:

ACT 31

DREAMS DARK AND DEADLY

_Chapter Eleven: The Walking Dead_

At that moment the door slid open and a short slender black clad girl burst into the room. R Dorothy Wayneright ran straight for the clear circular chamber where Roger was restrained. Shielding her face with her arms, she leaped up into the air and broke through the transparent plexiglass barrier. Once inside, her nimble hands worked quickly at the straps binding his arms to the gurney.

"Dorothy!" Roger cried as she freed his arms and waist. "You're alive!"

"No!" Gilbert Manes shouted as the door to the heart of the Dreamweb slid open. "Stop her! Destroy that android!" he cried as he jumped on Dorothy's back as she freed Roger's legs. Dorothy staggered forward under the unexpected weight but managed to undo the strap. Roger's long leg kicked out and struck Manes in the head, knocking him off the little redhead and sending him backwards into the wall.

Roger sat up and pulled the suction cups off his face. They came off with a popping noise. He was panting as if he had just run a mile. "Dorothy!" he smiled as he got off the gurney. "You're—" He stopped, frowning as the injured Gilbert Manes staggered to his feet and lurched forward. "Murderous rat!" Roger growled as he grabbed the shorter man's head and slammed his face against the metal gurney. "I hope you spend the rest of your life behind bars!" To his credit, Manes remained standing and turned to face Roger Smith but Roger struck him in the chin, knocking him out and laying him at an awkward angle on the gurney. "Let's get out of here." Roger said as they left the circular room to enter the control and monitoring chamber. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," Dorothy assured him. Her bedraggled state was completely at odds with her normally prim and proper appearance. A thin layer of dirt and leaves clung to her skin, hair and clothing. Her clothes were torn, wet and muddy in places, especially at her legs. The hem of her skirt was torn and her leggings had so many rips and runs in them that he could see her slender white legs peeking through. She was missing her shoes and her toes poked out of her torn stockings. "I'm not going to catch cold, if that's what you mean."

"Dorothy I'm sorry," he said as he put his large hands on her slender shoulders. It was obvious that she had been through an ordeal that would give a human girl nightmares. He thought that if he could keep her nearby he could protect her but like an idiot he had left her out in the woods alone…

"Look out," Dorothy said as she pushed him away and seized Marina Ivanovna's arm. Doctor Ivanovna had snuck up behind Roger with a hypodermic needle in her hand. Neither Roger nor Dorothy knew what was in it, but it couldn't be good.

"I forgot, everybody here is under Mane's control," Roger said as he wheeled around trying to face everybody in the room. The whole chamber circled the Dreamweb. Burton Fielding and Johnny Booger were to the right of them. Marina Ivanovna and Ellen Cody were to the left. "They shouldn't be too tough in a fight but remember that they're in a trance," he told her while trying to keep his voice calm. Their glazed expressions and sluggish movements were unsettling. "No matter what they do we've got to remember that _they_ are the victims here!"

It was four against two, but fortunately, Roger and Dorothy had the advantage. None of their attackers knew how to fight and their attacks were clumsy and uncoordinated. Roger countered with blocks and throws while Dorothy preferred dodges and holds. The real challenge was stopping them without hurting them.

While they were struggling with the mesmerized victims the door opened and the elderly but dashing Lawrence Winthrop entered followed by the young and freckled Harry Jones. "In here, Harry," Winthrop ordered. "We've got to save Mister Smith!"

"Ellen!" Jones cried as he pointed a .45 caliber revolver at Dorothy. "Wayneright! What are you doing?"

"I'm trying to restrain her," Dorothy said calmly as she pulled Ellen Cody's arm behind the blonde maid's back and pulled Marina Ivanovna off her feet. "I'm trying to keep her from harming herself and others."

"Put that thing away Harry, I don't see Manes anywhere!" Winthrop ordered. He came up behind Johnny Booger and wrapped an arm around the patient's neck while pushing two fingers against the drug addict's chest. The former guitarist slid out of the old man's arms and onto the ground.

"That's not bad!" Roger smiled as he put Fielding in a choke hold. "Where'd you learn moves like that? You've got to teach me that someday!"

"I have no idea," the old man rubbed the back of his neck and stretched. "I must have been quite the warrior before the Amnesia."

Roger could relate. To be honest he didn't know where his skill in acrobatics, hand to hand fighting, and piloting the Big O came from either. At least Winthrop was around when the Big Amnesia hit and had an excuse.

"Could somebody help me with these two?" Dorothy asked as she held the struggling Marina Ivanovna and Ellen Cody. "I don't want to hurt them."

"Ellen! Wake up! It's me, Harry!" Harry Jones implored her. "I don't know what's happened to you but you've got to snap out of…" his voice trailed off as a strange chiming filled the air. He shut his eyes and his chin rested against his collarbone for a few moments. It was as if he had fallen asleep standing up.

As a matter of fact Roger Smith felt pretty tired himself right now. It would be so easy to close his eyes and let his mind wander, but he snapped back to attention when he saw Harry's revolver rise slowly to point at Dorothy's head. "Dorothy!" Roger cried as he karate chopped Harry's wrist. The gun clattered to the floor as Harry took a swing at Roger.

"That sound is coming from the intercom system!" Winthrop exclaimed as he slapped himself in order to stay alert. "We've got to get everybody out of here!"

Dorothy pushed the two resisting women out the door as Roger struggled with Harry. Although Harry's punch had struck Roger by surprise the negotiator managed to stun the young handyman with a blow to the chin. Winthrop seized Harry from behind and pressed two fingers against the young man's neck.

"Pressure points," the old dandy explained as Harry slumped to the floor. "By applying pressure to certain nerve clusters you can incapacitate an opponent. Useful if you're getting too old for a serious fight…"

"You're pretty quick on your feet old man," Roger grinned. "You spry enough to carry a guy out of here?"

"Put Mister Fielding over my shoulder," Winthrop decided. "He looks light and I should manage if I don't have to bend over too much."

The old dandy seemed to have the strength and agility of a professional athlete but Roger was content to let Winthrop do the 'don't mind the harmless old man' routine if it meant getting the old codger's help. Soon the two men were hauling Fielding and Jones outside by draping them over their shoulders in a fireman's carry.

As the door slid shut behind them, Johnny Booger blinked awake as the hypersonic chime increased in intensity. He shambled into the heart of the Dreamweb and straightened Manes' body so the squat chef wouldn't fall off the gurney before placing suction cups on the murderer's face while singing a disjointed tune:

"_The time has come; the gate appears, ending the fascist realm of years; a trembling mountain of green gelatin, steps into the sun at man's age end…"_

With stiff, jerky movements Johnny Booger walked back out to the control room. The chime changed, and he flicked a switch.

* * *

><p>Outside Roger and Winthrop set Fielding and Harry down before applying the old man's 'pressure point nerve pinches' to Marina Ivanovna and Ellen Cody. They stopped to catch their breath as Dorothy watched the entrance to the building.<p>

"Any stretchers around?" Roger asked the old man.

"I believe they're in the infirmary," the old man nodded at the doors to the lab building. Neither one of them wanted to go back in there.

"Do I look like that?" Dorothy asked.

"Like what?" Roger turned to look at the little android.

"When a human is mind controlled," the girl clarified. "Do I look like that? Vacant eyed and staring and moving like an automation?"

"Uh… no…" Roger looked away and scratched the back of his head. "Of course not. Where have you been all this time anyway? I was worried sick about you!"

"Manes ambushed me in the woods," Dorothy explained. "Even though he was wearing a mask, I recognized him. When he discovered I was an android, he summoned some kind of creature. It appeared out of nothing. To escape it, I jumped in the lake and remained submerged until I could be sure it was safe."

"You were gone for hours," Roger scolded. "I was worried sick."

"It looks like _I_ should have been worried about _you_," she replied. "I managed to sneak back to the lodge and saw Manes and the others moving you and Mister Winthrop to the lab building. They didn't notice me following them so I listened in while trying to come up with a rescue plan."

"Then Harry Jones rescued _me_," Winthrop added. "After spending hours in the woods looking for Miss Wayneright he spotted her sneaking into the lab building and got curious. He found me tied up in the infirmary and I told him about Manes." He stopped and stared sadly at the doors to the lab building. "What a blind old fool I've been. All that going on right under my nose. And I was technically bankrolling it all too. Poor Torrance, Rita, Carl, and all those other poor devils Manes murdered. How could I have been so blind?"

"Don't blame yourself," Roger told him. "Dorothy and I came here looking for something incriminating and if Dorothy hadn't stumbled upon that dead body by accident I would have let myself become one of those Dreamweb zombies too. Manes actually covered his tracks pretty well."

"That's all very well and good Mister Smith but it happened on my watch so to speak," Winthrop muttered. "This place is called the '_Winthrop_ Institute for Dream Research' is it not?"

"I know how you feel," Roger looked at Dorothy and imagined one of Beck's scorpion robots flying away with her. "Well Dorothy, you better clean yourself up while Winthrop and I collect Gilbert Manes and…" Abruptly he turned to Winthrop. "Is Johnny Booger a real _name_?"

"I believe a better course of action would be for me to go in and retrieve them," Dorothy said. "I seem to be immune to the vibrations Manes used to take over everyone's minds and I'm stronger and can carry them out on my own."

"No way Dorothy," Roger shook his head. "Jones brought a revolver in there. If I didn't hit Manes hard enough that maniac has got a gun and I'm not about to let you risk your life."

"If I may interject, I have a set of earplugs that Mister Smith may find handy," Winthrop said as he offered Roger a tiny plastic box. "I take catnaps during the day. I don't know how effective they will be in filtering out those 'mind controlling subsonic echoes' but they should help."

Roger and Dorothy looked at each other. Roger had a stubborn look on his face while Dorothy stubbornly avoided having any expression on her face at all. "Well, it's stupid to go in alone anyway," the young man conceded while placing the plugs in his ears.

* * *

><p>They entered the building and made their way to the infirmary, where Dorothy and Winthrop found a stretcher. Roger carefully made his way back to the Dreamweb. He flinched as the vacuum nozzles in the tiny 'airlock' between the hall and the monitoring room roared to life but no one sprung from hiding as he entered. The room seemed to be empty. Roger removed one of the earplugs. The mind controlling chime had stopped. No sign of the bedraggled musician called 'Johnny Booger. He crept closer to the Dreamweb proper to see if Gilbert Manes was still there, making an effort to avoid stepping on the tiny shards of broken glass that Dorothy left behind when she rescued him earlier.<p>

He walked towards the shattered barrier and gasped when he saw Johnny Booger lying on the gurney, all the sensors of the Dreamweb wired up to him. He yelped and spun around as the doors behind him opened to allow Dorothy and Winthrop into the room. He put his finger to his lips, motioning them to be silent. Dorothy pointed to an object lying on the floor. It was Harry Jones' revolver. Okay, so Manes didn't have a gun, at least not that one. So far so good. But where was he? And what was he going to do next?

Roger got closer to see if Manes was hiding in the center of the Dreamweb. He spotted the lethal chef's corpulent form lying on the floor at the feet of the gurney at an awkward angle. He entered the small circular chamber and crouched to examine the potbellied lunatic. "He's not breathing," he announced as he took off a glove and checked for a pulse.

"How is Johnny Booger?" Winthrop asked.

"He's not breathing either," Roger told him.

"Let me have a look," the old man said while pulling a stethoscope out of a medical bag. "I may not be a doctor but I can find a heartbeat given the right equipment." The old man undid their shirts and listened to the chest of first one man, then the other. "Dead," Winthrop muttered while handing the stethoscope to Roger. "Both of them. And not a mark on either of them. Neither one of us are medical men, but it looks like the Dreamweb really _could_ suck the life-force from a human after all. In that respect, Gilbert Manes wasn't lying."

"But why?" Roger asked. "If the Dreamweb was used to kill them, Johnny Booger was the last one to die. Manes died first. Who killed Johnny Booger? Who's left?"

"Neither one of us saw Torrance or Carl die," Winthrop offered. "Does that mean that one of them…?"

Roger and Winthrop jumped back when Johnny Booger rose from the gurney. Gilbert Manes pulled himself off the floor at the same time. Dorothy had been keeping a lookout at the door and turned to see the duo shamble towards her, their movements clumsy and jerky like marionettes. That's when the building shook and the lights went out.

* * *

><p>Outside the lab building Marina Ivanovna was being shaken awake. "Wake up! Hey! Wake up!" Burton Fielding shouted.<p>

"Get your hands off me!" Marina slapped him away. "What's going on? Where am I? What am I doing outside?"

"Mister Winthrop said that Gilbert Manes took over your minds," Harry Jones said as he helped Ellen Cody to her feet. "You were fighting with Roger Smith and his little assistant in there. Don't you remember anything?"

"No, nothing," Marina winced as she got to her feet. "Ow, I'm bumped and bruised all over… Holy mother of God! What is that?"

A gigantic image appeared in the middle of the lake, distorted at first and shot through with snow like a bad television reception. At that moment the carillon tower exploded, becoming a hissing cloud of white hot plasma. Ignoring the panicked quartet cowering at the doors to the lab building, the plasma cloud drifted over the lake before descending and turning the lake into a frothing cauldron of steam. From the seething churning chaos the colossal image appeared, now only slightly transparent and outlined by flickering points of bright green lights like sullen lightning. As the quartet watched in horror, the ooze and slime from the bottom of the lake crept up the inside of the titanic image, transforming it into living flesh!

The solidifying image was a monster of vaguely anthropoid outline, but with an octopus like head whose face was a mass of feelers, a scaly rubbery-looking body, prodigious claws on hind and fore feet and long narrow bat like wings behind. This thing, which seemed to radiate a fearsome and unnatural malignancy, was of a somewhat bloated corpulence, and squatted evilly in the water as it waited for its body to solidify into a fleshy shape, yet a significant portion of its head remained semitransparent.

Without a word, Torrance Dandridge, Carl Weemes, Johnny Booger and Gilbert Manes exited the lab building, two at a time to brush past the startled foursome and walk towards the lake. Burton Fielding called out to them but stopped as the walkers reached the shoreline. Marina Ivanovna fainted as they dissolved, and Harry Jones insisted that he passed out when their flesh drained into formless plasm and oozed into the lake, despite the fact that he remained standing.

So sickened and awestruck were the two pairs of men and women that they didn't notice other figures emerging from the forest, but these wretched souls were much worse for wear than the silent foursome that left the lab building to dissolve and pour into the lake. They were foul corpses, rotten with corruption, but thankfully the sun was setting and it was hard to make out their details as they shambled out of the forest to dissolve into a fetid ooze at the shoreline.

Ellen Cody looked up from where she had been retching to see that the corrupted flesh had left the discarded skeletons to form amoeboid mass that melded together to fill the empty space in the octopus creature's cranium. It was as if the hundred corpses that dissolved in the lake had become the physical components of bizarre organ which the creature would use for a brain. She screamed as the image became real and her mind was bombarded by thoughts that were alien to her and every other human being.

* * *

><p>On a desk filled with hourglasses a phone rings. Roger's hand picks up the receiver and a sinister voice says:<p>

_Next: The Terror from the Lake_


	12. The Terror from the Lake

_The Big O__ and all of its settings and characters are owned by Cartoon Network, Sunrise, and Bandai Visual. Additional plot, settings and characters are © by Chaosium. _Additional material by Howard Phillips Lovecraft.__

THE BIG O:

ACT 31

DREAMS DARK AND DEADLY

_Chapter Twelve: The Terror from the Lake_

Inside the lab building, Roger Smith and Lawrence Winthrop were following Dorothy Wayneright down the darkened hall. Her barrette had risen from her bangs to reveal a cavity that contained what appeared to be a CD player and a powerful halogen lamp the girl used to light the way. They were in pursuit of the hypnotized Johnny Booger and the murderous Gilbert Manes, who had somehow managed to stop their heartbeats, stop their breathing and still get up and find their way out of the lab building when the power went out. Roger had had enough. As the outside doors became visible, the negotiator fiddled with his watch. "Norman?" he said to the tiny image that appeared on the watch face. "Is it here?"

"Not to worry sir," the monochromatic image of a balding elderly man sporting a white mustache and a black eyepatch assured him, "I sent it over last night as per your instructions."

"Good work," Roger said as he followed Dorothy and Winthrop outside. "There's been an explosion and I might need… What the?" He gaped as he saw Ellen Cody, Harry Jones, and Burton Fielding standing over a collapsed Marina Ivanovna staring at a gelatinous green immensity emerging from a cloud of steam in the lake. A pulpy tentacled head surmounted a grotesque and scaly body with rudimentary bat wings. The size was bad enough, but it was the _general outline_ of the whole that made it most shockingly frightful. The cavity in its head seemed be being filling with a viscous slimy substance that was absorbed into the green rubbery flesh.

Once complete, the thing could not be described—there is no language for such abysms of shrieking and immemorial lunacy, such eldritch contradictions of all matter, force, and cosmic order. A mountain walked or stumbled. Roger screamed as his senses were assailed by a barrage of alien thoughts, none of which had any semblance to anything in human experience.

His mind reeling under the telepathic onslaught, his subconscious attempted to defend itself by dredging up images and feelings from the depth of his psyche to combat the alien images, thoughts and unnamable sensations. An eye. A barcode. Children staring into flames. Big Duo, Big O and Big Fau laying waste to a city. No it wasn't megadeuses that were laying waste to a city; it was things like the creature in the lake! They lumbered forward, plastic and stretchy, their proportions changing on a whim but always maintaining the same damnable _shape_!

Roger was in a flight suit complete with a leather cap and flight goggles. He was in the cockpit of Big O firing as much ordinance as he could at those things. He was shouting orders while voices from the headphones in concealed under his cap reported movements and casualties. Metal Bigs and flabby behemoths were being taken out one after another. Megadeuses of all kinds battled gigantic horrors.

Dorothy tore her eyes from the creature to look at the humans around her. Ellen Cody screamed and rolled on the ground. Harry Jones tore at his clothing. Burton Fielding curled in a fetal position and cried. Marina Ivanovna mercifully, was still unconscious, but tossed and turned on the ground in a fitful sleep. Lawrence Winthrop closed his eyes while holding his hands over his ears and shouted at the creature. Roger pulled at his hair and howled in pain. "Big! O!" he abruptly cried as he rolled on the ground clutching his head. "Big O! Help me! Help me! Aaaaaaah!"

Appearing out of the lake from the direction of the dam was the mighty megadeus known as Big O. Two vaguely humanoid legs supported a barrel shaped body. The enormous arms of the megadeus were in reality massive piledrivers with huge mechanical hands instead of chisels. The head of was an impassive face that was dwarfed by the megadeus' humungous body. The megadeus' face was topped by a red crystalline crown and the top of its chest was covered by a red collar that concealed the cockpit. Big O lumbered past the tentacled horror and marched toward the shore where its incapacitated pilot writhed on the ground.

Before Dorothy's eyes, the octopus headed creature seized Big O with one of its clawlike appendages, preventing the black megadeus from reaching its pilot. She flinched as she saw Big O turn and strike the behemoth with its fist, activating its piledriver as it did so. There was the bursting as of an exploding bladder, a slushy nastiness as of a cloven sunfish, a stench as of a thousand opened graves and a sound that defied description. For an instant the Big O was surrounded by an acrid and blinding green mist, but as it walked out of the seething cloud, the scattered plasticity of the nameless leviathan was nebulously recombining in its hateful original form!

But the Big O's strike was not in vain. The six humans stopped thrashing around as the mental onslaught abruptly ceased. The demons in their heads were again their own, but the damage from the telepathic attack remained as Ellen Cody fainted and Harry Jones curled up and sobbed.

"Big… Oh!" Roger mumbled as he lay on the ground. "Big O… help!" Five massive black metal fingers appeared before him and he smiled weakly as Dorothy wrapped her arms around him and jumped into Big O's giant hand. Once in the control room Dorothy helped him into the cockpit, but Roger didn't seem up to piloting the megadeus. "Big… O…" the negotiator mumbled. "It's okay. I'm ready… Do what you have to… Get us out of this… Give me the strength to be your domineus…"

Dorothy's eyes widened as a mass of cables snaked out from behind the back of Roger's chair to pierce his back right through his leather jacket. "Ah!" Roger yelped as he shut his eyes. On one circular screen before Roger's chair nightmare images and unfathomable equations were shown. The other screens displayed graphs and a human outline that Dorothy assumed represented Roger's vitals. The nightmare images blinked by on the central screen at blinding speed before the word 'DELETE' was displayed and all three screens faded to red.

"Unh… where am I?" Roger groaned. "What? Big O? How did I get in here?" Roger was so disoriented that he didn't notice the cables detach themselves from his back and disappear behind his chair. "Dorothy?" the young man blinked. "What…?"

"There's some kind of monster outside," Dorothy informed him. "When Big O arrived I carried you here. Roger, Big O… hates that thing. It hates it."

"What? Hates it?" he looked past her out the clear scarlet collar at the batwinged tentacled monster before him. "What… is that?" He asked as Big O was nearly dragged off its feet by the massive tentacles. "Dorothy! I'm afraid!" he gasped. "Me! I don't understand! I'm actually _scared_! Why am I so frightened?"

"It seems to attack people's minds," Dorothy explained as the forward view was obscured by the creature's massive maw. The thing must be trying to swallow Big O's head. "The others at the institute, they can't think straight," the girl explained. "It's as if the creature's very presence is causing their worst fears to manifest. Big O is shielding you so you can destroy it. Big O hates it Roger. It hates it."

"Then let's wipe that thing off the face of the Earth!" Roger announced as he summoned his old bravado. "Ready Big O?" He glanced at the displays and was gratified to see the message 'CAST IN THE NAME OF GOD YE NOT GUILTY' scrolling by on the large circular screen in front of him. "All right! Let's go! I'm with ya old buddy! It's Showtime folks! Action! That thing is a combination of the nightmares of every person Manes killed! It's the pain of their deaths made manifest! That creature is abomination personified! It shouldn't exist anywhere!"

"Apparently Big O isn't the only one who hates it," Dorothy observed.

Roger worked the pedals and joysticks as the black megadeus struggled free of the octopus headed behemoth. He managed to turn his fear into anger and Dorothy's eyes widened as she wondered if Big O was doing the same thing.

"Damn!" Roger grunted. "So… many… tentacles! We've got to get out of this!" The piston in Big O's right arm moved back before plunging forward into the creature's plastic mass. Once again the creature burst into an acrid and blinding green mist. "Yes!" Roger grinned and let go of one of the joysticks to punch the air with his fist.

"Roger it's not over," Dorothy told him as the young man walked the black megadeus out of the rolling, seething cloud. "Look behind us."

"Eh?" Roger had the Big O turn its head to look over its 'shoulder' to see the emerald cloud recombining itself into the batwinged tentacle faced creature. "There's no way…" he muttered.

The octopus headed creature roared and gestured before it. A whirling vortex appeared in front of it. Somehow it had summoned what looked like a tornado. Water from the lake was sucked into it and redirected with lethal ferocity at Big O. Roger responded by blocking with Big O's arm shields.

"How do we kill it?" Roger muttered as he activated the lasers hidden in Big O's eyes. The monster roared as the lasers scarred its flesh to but to Roger's horror the wounds seemed to heal as he watched. "How do we stop this thing? Let's see…" At least the monster flinched when it was raked by the lasers. The creature seemed to feel pain. That was something at least. If energy attacks hurt it more than blunt force trauma maybe he should try…

"Chromebuster!" His fist hit a large red rectangular button under a large black dial to his right. Both of Big O's hands rose to the sky as pinkish purple energy collected at its crown. As the lavender energy crackled before its face, the black megadeus clenched its fists before bringing them horizontally before it. A brilliant beam of light shot from its head as it put its knuckles together, causing its now horizontal arms to form a 'T'. The purple beam of light boiled away the flabby green flesh of the creature before it causing an unholy bellow to emerge from the beast.

"That hurt it!" Roger cheered. "That hurt it for real! Come on, Big O! Keep it up! You can do it!"

The purple beam dissolved the leviathan's head and then worked down the body. It got halfway down its corpulent bulk before the creature burst into a green noxious mist again. This time, however, the mist dissipated and did not reform. Soon the night sky was visible and if not for the fact that the carillon tower had been reduced to a melted slag there was no trace that the monster had ever existed.

* * *

><p>The next day Roger and Dorothy were packing the long black Cadillac for the long trip home. Lawrence Winthrop came out to meet them. "Leaving Mister Smith?"<p>

"Yes," Roger nodded. "The Electric City constable is going to want an explanation and I'd just as soon keep my name out of it. How are the others?"

"Harry and Ellen have managed to nurse each other back to health and Marina is using complete sentences again but poor Mister Fielding hasn't said a word since last night," Winthrop said grimly. "I'm afraid he's planning to kill himself."

"I don't blame him," Roger grumbled. "It was his invention that either created that thing or allowed it to manifest in the first place. That's a lot of guilt to have in addition to having your mind invaded by a giant monster."

"Still you and I seemed to weather the storm," Winthrop shrugged. "Hopefully without too many permanent effects. I drove into town to get help this morning and found out that Electric City was hit by that creature's thoughts as well. Last night they had riots, suicides, murders… The constable has more than his hands full before he'll find the time to bother with _us_."

Roger was still trying to figure out how he had managed to resist the mental onslaught of last night's monster when no else had. Dorothy had said that being in Big O protected him somehow. He still didn't remember anything from when he left the lab building until he woke up in the cockpit. He must not have gone completely unscathed. Dorothy had been very attentive, taking his jacket and his shirt when he got undressed last night before he shooed her away. But why had she done that? And why did she take them out of his room back to hers? Oh well, at least she didn't try to undo his pants.

"Mister Winthrop, do you have any idea what that monster was last night?" Roger asked. "The way it got in everybody's minds, I guess that it was some kind of nightmare creature, a gestalt of the fears and neuroses of everybody who Manes killed made manifest by the Dreamweb."

"That's a good enough assessment as any," Winthrop decided. "_I_ don't have a better explanation."

"Mister Winthrop, while Manes had us tied up he was talking about some kind of 'Great One' that was remained trapped in some kind of prison after the rest of its kind awakened forty years ago," Roger said uneasily.

"Mister Smith, Gilbert Manes was a madman," the old man chided. "You can't attach any significance to what he said."

"But _somebody_ murdered Johnny Booger after Manes was killed," Roger insisted. "If it wasn't Manes, if it was some other intelligence that was pulling the strings, that might mean some of the other things that he said might be true, wouldn't it?"

"A telepathic race of giant monsters reclaimed the world after hibernating for umpteen years?" Winthrop laughed. "Really Mister Smith. Gilbert Manes probably told that story to each one of his victims before he drained them of their mental energy. The combined psychic energy of all those people eventually broke free and created a body for themselves while trying to possess all of us who were still human. That's why the wave of mental anguish hit all of us the way it did. If the black megadeus hadn't shown up last night, that creature would have probably died on its own as the collected mental energy was used up, but not before everybody in Electric City was irrevocably mad. No that thing was a creature of madness _born_ from madness."

"You really think so?" Roger asked doubtfully.

"Certainly," Winthrop smiled.

"Really?"

"Surely."

Roger wasn't sure if he believed the old fox but even if Winthrop was lying, the old man couldn't know for sure what that creature really was any more than Roger did. Roger just hoped that Winthrop was right and Manes was wrong.

* * *

><p>The trip home was a long one. And a quiet one. Every time one of them tried to start talking the conversation died before it got a chance to live.<p>

The next day, Roger didn't even bother getting dressed. He moped around in his pajamas and had Norman serve him a lot of whiskey. Could anything that Gilbert Manes said have been real? Was that monster or those like it responsible for the Event that destroyed the past forty years ago? Or was it a composite of humanity's doubts, fears, and pain? Or was it something unrelated to what Gilbert Manes was up to, simply a coincidence? No matter how hard he wrapped his head around it, he couldn't explain it. He had a bad feeling that his nightmares were going to get a lot worse.

"Are you all right?" Dorothy asked him pointblank.

"What?" he looked up to find himself sitting on a couch doing nothing in particular. Dorothy was bending over him, her eyes wide with… well… Roger assumed that the expression she was shooting for was concern, but it looked more like blank scrutiny. "Oh. I guess so Dorothy. Well not really. You're lucky. Androids seem to be immune to whatever that creature was sending out so you're okay. That's something I guess." And she didn't have to hear Gilbert Manes insane ranting either. She really _was_ lucky.

"Roger you haven't been the same since that night," Dorothy said.

"I'm sorry," he sighed. "Gilbert Manes put a lot of weird ideas in my head and then my mind got blasted by the octopus thing… And this on top of my standard ration of nightmares and hallucinations that got me so interested in going to the Dream Institute in the first place. I guess I should have Norman get me a straightjacket to go with my blazer. I keep trying to sort it out but I can't get a handle on it. I suppose I should consider myself lucky compared the others."

"You need a distraction," Dorothy decided. "Why don't I draw you a bath? You can relax and then get dressed. Perhaps you'll feel better."

"You're right Dorothy; it can't hurt," he grinned weakly. He smiled wistfully at the delicate little android as she left the room. Good old Dorothy. He didn't know anybody else who could be taken apart and put back together the way she had and bounce right back to normal. Maybe she didn't but at least she could make it seem like she did. He stretched as he rose from the couch. Time to man up and face the day, he supposed.

"Oh dear, it looks like we have another casualty," a tall elderly man in an archaic tuxedo murmured as he showed Roger a punctured leather jacket. He fiddled with his mustache and ran a hand over his bald pate before looking at Roger with the eye that wasn't covered by an eyepatch. "And it was such expensive leather too."

"Norman?" Roger took the leather jacket from his butler. "Is this my jacket? What happened to it?"

"I don't know sir," Norman shrugged. "It doesn't seem to have survived your trip out to Electric City."

Roger gasped. Eight punctures were in its back. Were there eight punctures in his tee shirt as well? Were there eight punctures in his _back_? A vision of Alex Rosewater with eight cables snaking out of his back filled Roger's head. Had he been joined to Big O the same way Alex was to Big Fau? What had happened that night?

Roger went to his bedroom and stripped for his bath. He paused in front of a full length mirror and turned so he could examine his back. No scars. It was as smooth as a baby's backside. As a matter of fact, so was his backside. Breathing a sigh of relief, he put on a bathrobe and made his way to the bath. Dorothy should have the water ready by now.

He picked up some towels from the linen closet on the way and put on an easy smile as he entered the bathroom. "Is it ready yet?" he asked before stopping dead in his tracks and letting his eyes bulge out. "Dorothy!"

Dorothy Wayneright was relaxing in the tub. There was nothing concealing her slim white body but the distortion from the water and the steam rising out of the tub. The servos in her neck hummed as he turned her head to look at him. "Yes, Roger? Is there something I can do for you?"

"Dorothy!" Roger blushed. "You said you were going to draw me a bath!"

"You must have misheard me," she said as she covered herself with her hands. "I said that I was going to _take_ a bath. Did you have a reason for invading my privacy Roger Smith?"

The birds perching on the white tower that was the Smith Mansion were frightened away by a loud roar. "R DOROTHY WAYNERIGHT!"

_No Side._

* * *

><p>Dorothy and Roger sit on a large hourglass the size of a barstool. Behind them is an orange background. The sound of a piano and the duet of a man and woman singing can be heard.<p>

_Sometimes I feel so all alone_

_Finding myself callin' your name_

_When we're apart, so far away_

_Hopin' it's me that you're thinkin' of_

_Could it be true, could it be real?_

_My heart says that you're the one._

_There's no one else, you're the only one for me._

_Yes, this time my love's the real thing._

_Never felt that love is so right._

_The world seemed such an empty place._

_We need someone we could give our all._

_Baby, it's you, we'll be together now and forever._

_Could it be true, could it be real?_

_My heart says that you're the one._

_There's no one else, you're the only one for me._

_Yes, this time my love's the real thing._

_Never felt that love is so right._

_The world seemed such an empty place._

_We need someone we could give our all._

_Baby, it's you, we'll be together now and forever._

_Never felt that love is so right._

_The world seemed such an empty place._

_We need someone we could give our all._

_Baby, it's you, we'll be together now and forever._


End file.
